As the Crow Flies
by FiammaBee
Summary: Liv is an old friend of Bobby's. She's far from what you'd expect when you think of the kind of women that hang around hunters. Liv is feminine, delicate, and fragile. It's been years since Bobby has seen her when she unexpectedly shows up on his doorstep, looking for help. Takes place during S7, just after Cas becomes "God" and will continue from there on. Dean/OC
1. Chapter 1

_**This is the first story I've posted. It's definitely a work in progress. Of course, I own nothing but my OC, Liv. Feel free to review/follow or critique; I appreciate all feedback.**_

"Someone's coming up the road," the light-haired man commented. He was bent over the front of a shiny, black, muscle car, his head hidden beneath the hood and his fingers covered in thick grease.

Both men turned, registering the approaching vehicle and the cloud of chalky, red dust it left in its' wake. It was a beat up, old Jeep with cracks in the windshield and a busted headlight.

"I've never seen that Jeep before. You?" The dark-haired man asked.

"Nah. Probably looking for parts. That hunk of junk looks like it could use some work. Hand me that lug wrench, Sammy." Shorter than his companion, but by no means diminutive in height, the first man turned back to his own car. In stark contrast to the Jeep, which had pulled off to the side of the narrow dirt road and was idling loudly in the otherwise quiet of the peaceful afternoon, the Impala was in mint condition. Shining in the late afternoon sunlight, it was a piece of art – perfectly waxed, the chrome polished until the metal sparkled. You couldn't even admire it without shielding your eyes from the blinding glare.

"I don't know, Dean. She doesn't look like much of a car person to me." The taller man, Sammy, had watched the woman climb through the driver's side door. She was so petite that she actually teetered on the edge of her seat before free falling several inches to the ground. The crumbled dirt and gravel crunched beneath her small feet, clad in old, rugged, bohemian sandals. A small, brindle pit-bull with white markings on its' feet, chest, and belly, no more than a puppy really, leapt out of the jeep and stood next to the woman with a goofy, doggy grin plastered across its' face. Its' ears pricked up at the sight of the two men and, distracted by a piece of worn paper in her hand, the woman didn't even notice when the dog bounded toward them. In fact, Sam was certain she hadn't even noticed them standing there, barely twenty yards away from her.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" the shorter man shouted, backing away from the swiftly approaching dog, which appeared much larger while barreling toward them at full speed.

The woman looked up, sharply, and let out a tired groan.

"Molly, stop!" she yelled, hurrying toward them.

Sam quickly saw that there was no danger in this unruly but affectionate canine and he kneeled down to greet her. The dog, Molly, slammed into him with the full force of her twenty wiry pounds, a panting ball of energy that immediately began baptizing his face with her hot tongue. Sam laughed when Molly rolled onto her back and wriggled against his legs, sending clouds of dust all over his jeans and the side of the previously spotless black car. Behind him, Dean cursed loudly.

Sam turned to face him and laughed even harder when he saw that his brother had literally backed up onto the hood of the car in a desperate attempt to escape Molly's wrath.

"Dean, what're you doing? It's just a puppy," Sam said, demonstrating his point by vigorously rubbing the dog's belly. Molly grinned up at him; her tongue lolled out the side of her mouth and left a widening puddle of drool in the dirt.

"I know that," Dean retorted, slowly inching his way off of the car.

"I'm so sorry!" the woman cried out. She had finally caught up to the overzealous pit-bull and was frantically trying to grab onto its' collar. "She's usually really well behaved but we've been in the car for hours and she loves people; she just got excited. I'm really, really sorry!"

Sam waved his hand, dismissively.

"It's totally fine," he said, grinning broadly at the distraught woman. "Really, don't worry. We love dogs, don't we, Dean?"

Dean nodded, clearly still wary. He visibly relaxed when the woman was finally able to snap a leash onto Molly's pale, pink collar.

The woman smiled hesitantly and tugged on the leash. It seemed, however, that Molly wasn't interested in leaving Sam's side quite yet. She settled down on the ground beside him and rested her head on his rather large shoe. He only laughed again and ruffled her ears before standing and extending his right hand toward the woman.

"I'm Sam. Are you looking for parts?"

She shook her head but accepted his hand, shaking it firmly. "No, actually I'm looking for Bobby Singer." She looked up at him, craning her neck to maintain eye contact and shielding her eyes from the fading but still power sunlight. He was so tall and she so short that the top of her head didn't even reach his shoulders.

"You know Bobby?" Dean asked, stepping closer. "I'm Dean, by the way."

The woman shook his hand, as well, and nodded.

"I've known Bobby my whole life, but I haven't seen him in forever. Is he here?"

Before either of them could answer, Bobby stepped out of a nearby garage, an uncharacteristically wide smile spreading across his face.

"Livve? Livvie Tate, is that you?" he called.

The woman squealed and ran toward him, dropping the leash which Sam bent down to collect though the dog continue to show no sign of moving. The brothers watched Bobby sweep up the woman in a great, bear hug. Her feet actually lifted off the ground as he swung her around.

"Oh, man, no one has called me Livvie in years!" she exclaimed as he set her back down.

"I guess it's Olivia now, huh?" Bobby said.

"Nope, just Liv," she answered.

"Alright then, just Liv," he said, releasing her from the hug but holding onto one of her hands. "What the hell are you doing here, girl?" he asked.

Liv's smile disappeared, instantly.

"It's Dad, Bobby. I haven't heard from him in six months." She opened her mouth to continue but Dean cut off her words.

"You said Tate? Is your dad Rick Tate?"

She nodded, quickly. "Do you know him? Where he is?"

Dean shook his head. "I know who he is but we've never met."

"Sure you have," Bobby interjected. "You both have. You've met Liv here, too, back when she was still little Livvie. Must have been twenty five years ago, at least."

Sam squinted at the woman, looking her up and down. It was true; she did seem just barely familiar. Dressed in a long, floaty skirt with a paisley pattern of multiple colors and a simple, white tank top, she looked like she belonged in another decade, perhaps the 60's. Even her long, dark hair that fell to her waist in tangled, natural waves would have looked right at home in the Woodstock community. Her pale skin was smooth and dusted with a spatter of dainty freckles. It was lightly weathered, as if a decent amount of time in the sun had finally made some impression on her fair complexion. He noticed a few tattoos, as well; one on her foot that looked like some kind of large bird, and another on her shoulder. It was partially concealed but it appeared to be a tree, with several more birds roosting in its' branches.

"We have?" Dean asked, and his eyebrows rose in question. Sam saw that Dean was giving the woman the same inspection and was coming to a similar conclusion; that they had met her was likely, but neither could remember from when or where.

"Oh yeah, long time ago. You were just kids but you spent a summer here. Well, part of one, anyway. Your dads left the three of you here with me and went on a hunt, some coven out in Modesto."

Sam and Dean exchanged uncomfortable looks; Bobby rarely mentioned the real family business in front of strangers. Liv only smiled, accepting the information as truth without question, which they took to mean that she was accustomed to the line of work that Sam, Dean, and Bobby lived and breathed every day.

"I remember," she said suddenly, grinning. "You almost blew your hand off with a firecracker!" She pointed at Dean and burst into raucous laughter.

Dean scowled but Sam and Bobby joined in. Sam watched her eyes twinkle and realized how infectious her laughter was.

"Oh, yeah," he agreed, turning to his brother. "You double-dared me to hold it 'cause you were convinced it was a dud. When it sparked in your hand, you threw it at me and ran about a mile." Sam continued to laugh, remembering the incident. His recollection of the girl was still shady, at best. He remembered someone being there, someone who was of little interest to his five year old self.

Noticing Dean's furrowed brow and offended expression, Liv coughed back her giggles, with extreme effort, and smile at him apologetically.

"I don't remember much else," she said. "I think we had fun, though."

Bobby nodded. "Like I said, you were just kids. You two stuck around another month but Liv left after two or three days. Tell me, kid, when was the last time you heard from him?" he asked, turning back to her.

"Like I said, about six months ago. He called from a bar. He was a drunk." Liv paused, frowning. "I hate it when he's drunk."

"Well, he always was a dumbass," Bobby grumbled. "Come on, let's go inside and get some grub."

Two hours later, after a meal of Bobbly's homemade, and delicious, chili con carne, the four of them sat around a desk in the den. The room was dark, lit only by a small, kerosene lamp on the mantle. A large map of the Midwest was laid out in front of them. Molly snoozed softly from a nearby armchair, occasionally opening one eye to check on her people.

Liv took a small, narrow nail from a jar and pressed it into the map, marking the location of the bar from which her father had last contacted her.

"He was here. He forgot to block the number so it showed up on my cell phone. There's a pay phone at this bar that matches the number. I called it back a few times but no one ever knew who I was talking about."

"Six months is a long time, Liv. Why would he be in the same place?" Dean asked. Liv just shrugged.

"It's the last place we know of. Did he say anything about the case?" Bobby asked.

"No, nothing. I'm not even sure he was on a case." Liv pulled a pair of dark-rimmed glasses out of her bag and slipped them on. With her right, index finger, she traced the route from the bar to Bobby's home in Kansas. "It's only 300 miles from here, give or take a few. I can't believe he didn't call you for help or anything, Bobby."

"What did I say before?" Bobby said, gruffly. "Rick was a good hunter in his prime but he's always been a first class dumbass."

"Maybe he didn't need help," Sam offered.

"Maybe," Dean said. "But it's pretty stupid to go into a hunt on your own without someone on the line for back up, or even telling anybody, even if you don't need help. Hell, there's two of us and we always check in with Bobby, no matter what. For all we know now, he could be-."

Bobby directed a swift kick at Dean's shin, under the desk, and nodded toward Liv, who was oblivious to the slight commotion below and had paled at the implication of Dean's words.

"Fine. For all we know, he's completely fine," Dean finished, sounding falsely optimistic. "I'm sure he's fine."

That first night at Bobby's, Liv's thoughts were consumed by images of her father. Was he hurt somewhere? Trapped? Sleeping off one hell of a bender? It wouldn't be the first time. But he'd never gone so long without getting in touch and he'd promised her he never would.

In a fit of angry frustration, she picked up her cell phone and dialed his number. For the thousandth time, it went straight to voicemail, which was full and not accepting any new messages. Filled with her own messages, most likely. They had started off calm and inquisitive, asking where he was, when would she see him again, normal questions. They quickly shifted into hyperactive panic, though; she could sense that something wasn't right. Eventually, her concern turned into red-hot anger. She cursed him for being so selfish, for subjecting her to a life of worry. Her final messages, the ones she left in the days just before his voicemail stopped cooperating, were simple pleas, begging him to call her, just to let her know he was alright even if he didn't want to speak to her. No matter her approach, he never responded.

Cursing, she flung the phone away with more force than she'd intended, further angered by the tears that tumbled down her cheeks. It wasn't fair. He was the worst kind of father; absent, alcoholic, destructive, yet he was still capable of eliciting such feelings of grief at the prospect of losing him.

A light tap on the door brought her to her senses. Dean stood in the doorway, clothed in only a white towel wrapped around his narrow hips. His hair was still wet from the shower and he clutched a small, black revolver in his right hand, which he held below his waist.

"Everything okay in here?" he asked, his eyes shifting around the room. "Sounded like something fell."

She brushed away the tears and nodded.

"Everything's fine. I dropped my phone," she finished, gesturing toward the cell phone that sat on the ground, beneath a fresh dent in the drywall.

"Dropped it. Okay," he said before nodding and slipping away, pulling the door shut behind him.

Molly watched him leave, and then turned back to her mistress. Her eyes drooped and she let out a quiet woof before lowering her head.

"Can't you sleep outside?" Dean snarled. He rolled around uncomfortably on the makeshift bed he'd fashioned on the floor of Sam's room. Bobby had insisted they give up the nicest spare bedroom, Dean's room, which left Sam and Dean in the closet sized spare with one twin bed. After several tense rounds of rock, paper, scissors, Sam had settled onto the pancake thin mattress while Dean swore profusely from the cold, hard wood floor below.

"Don't be bitchy," Sam answered, grinning despite the metal springs that threatened to puncture his flesh through the nearly useless mattress. "You're being chivalrous."

"Chivalrous?" Dean said, incredulously. "What am I, a fucking knight?"

"It's the nice thing to do. She's had a rough few months," Sam said.

"Easy for you to say, up there in a real damn bed. This floor smells like moldy ass."

"I doubt Bobby's gotten around to spring cleaning this year," Sam laughed. "Or last year. Or the year before that. Or ever."

"Did you see her tattoos?" Dean interrupted.

"The birds on her shoulder?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, and on her foot. What the hell are they supposed to mean?"

"They were crows, I think."

"Okay, and?" Dean demanded.

"Crows are harbingers of death," Sam answered, grinning as he rolled over onto his side and pulled up the covers.

"Great," Dean muttered, sarcastically. He savagely punched his pillow and shifted onto his back, grimacing as the frigid cold of the floor seeped through the blankets he was lying on and confronted his flesh.

Sam fell asleep almost instantly, his feet comically hanging several inches off the foot of the bed.

A light breeze ruffled the lacy, yellow curtains, stained by years of age. As he drifted off, Dean could have sworn he felt the delicate brush of satiny, soft hair across his chest, and the unmistakable calling of crows outside the window.


	2. Chapter 2

"So why couldn't Bobby come with us?" Dean asked.

Sam rolled his eyes, having heard the question several times already. "Because he's got three hunters out, using him as backup. If he misses any of those calls, they're all fucked," he answered, his gaze never wavering from the large map spread across the dashboard of the Impala.

"This guy doesn't even know us," Dean grumbled.

"He knows Bobby. So, we say Bobby sent us and he'll listen," Sam said. "More importantly, he knows her." He nodded toward the backseat, where Liv was snoring softly, her legs tucked up beneath the hem of her long, grey and white striped, jersey knit dress. Only her toes poked out, the nails painted black with small, silver sparkles adorning the smooth polish.

"Doesn't seem like he's interested in talking to her. If he's even alive," Dean said, his gaze shifting from the road before them to the rearview mirror, where he had an excellent view of the sleeping woman.

He took in the sight of her delicate, smooth shoulders, the pout of her glossy lips, and the dark framed glasses that had slid down to the tip of her delicate nose. She was small, but not skinny. Her hips were wider than he normally preferred, but her waist was narrow and her bosom ample. Still, she wasn't his type. For one thing, she'd packed more books than clothes and her taste in music was atrocious; she listened exclusively to the kind of hippy garbage that made him want to puke and, on top of that, he was pretty sure she hadn't brushed her hair in the entire time she'd been in their company. In fact, at that particular moment, the long, dark mass of it was gathered into a tangled ball on the top of her head, looking like it could house any number of bugs or rodents. Dean could appreciate a natural beauty but come on… at least try a little, right? She didn't even get her nails done. They were short and ragged and looked like the only manicuring they had ever received was administered by her teeth.

"Dude," Sam said, staring at his brother. "Stop checking her out."

"I'm not," Dean growled. "She's got her disgusting feet all over the backseat and she's drooling on the leather." He didn't really mind the feet, they looked clean enough, but the drool was a genuine concern of his.

Sam chuckled. "I think it'll be okay."

"Yeah, well, at least she didn't insist on bringing the damn dog," Dean said, cringing at the thought of all that slobber tainting the interior of his baby.

"Give her a break, man. I don't think she's slept since she got to Bobby's. Not to mention her dad's been missing, in case you'd forgotten," Sam said, folding up the map and tucking it into the glove compartment.

"Yeah, but, she smells like patchouli," Dean whined.

"I like the smell of patchouli," Sam interjected.

"And she listens to Joni Mitchell," Dean continued.

"I like Joni Mitchell," Sam said, his voice rising slightly.

"And she hates Metallica," Dean finished, his tone implying that hating Metallica was a grave offense, an atrocity that he simply could never overlook.

"I hate Metallica," Sam asserted, frowning.

"Wait, wait, wait." Dean smirked at his brother. "I get it, now. You've got a thing for her, don't you?"

"No, I don't," Sam insisted. "I just feel bad for her. Remember when Dad was missing? It was pretty rough, and now she's dealing with the same thing."

"Ahh, come on, Sammy. I can dig it. She's kind of wild but she's definitely got some endearing qualities. All those books, right? I know how much you love books." Dean's grin widened and he wriggled his eyebrows up and down, suggestively. "Don't worry. I'll try not to let her fall for me. Might be tough but… I'll do what I can, for you."

"You're disgusting," was Sam's only response, but Dean saw the corners of his mouth turn up, ever so slightly.

"Who's disgusting?" Liv asked, barely intelligible through the massive yawn she let out as she woke.

"My brother," Sam said.

"Why?"

"Because he was born a chauvinistic narcissist," he said, bluntly.

"Was he? I hadn't noticed," Liv said, laughing.

"Sam's just being a dick because he's jealous," Dean said, clapping his brother on the shoulder.

"Jealous of what?" Liv asked, stretching her arms wide in the narrow space. Dean eyed her appreciatively, reasoning to himself that no harm ever came from looking; he hastily averted his gaze when he saw Sam watching him.

"My irresistible charm, of course," Dean answered.

"Oh, right," Liv said, vaguely. "Listen guys, I hate to interrupt but I gotta pee like, an hour ago."

Dean groaned.

"We're almost there," he said. "Do you think you can hold it another, thirty minutes or so."

"Maybe. Maybe not. Do you wanna take that chance?" Liv asked, grinning.

Dean scowled and flipped on the turn signal. He took the first exit, pulling into a deserted rest stop.

Liv scrambled out of the car and hurried toward the restroom, her worn, leather sandals in one hand. Dean watched her drop them on the ground just outside the bathroom and breathed a sigh of relief when she slipped her feet into them. For a second, he'd really thought she might actually have gone into a public, rest stop bathroom with bare feet. He'd never have been able to let her back in the car. Disgusting, he thought, which reminded him of the drool. He leaned over the seat and, using the cuff of his long-sleeved denim shirt, wiped away the few drops. Sam just watched, amused.

"How soon do you think we'll be able to get back to Bobby's?" Dean asked, rubbing the sleeve of his shirt on his jeans and grimacing.

"Couple days, maybe a week, depending on how long it takes to find this guy," Sam said. He glanced toward the bathroom and, seeing no one, he continued. "I'm pretty sure we'll find him after checking the hospital. But I doubt he'll be alive."

Dean cocked an eyebrow. "You thinking morgue?"

"Or some record of a guy matching his description, dying there or showing up DOA. Might have to get in touch with the coroner. Either way, I don't anticipate a happy, father-daughter reunion, do you?"

Dean sighed. "No. Bobby told me Rick's gotten sloppy in the last few years. Drinking too much, needing backup more often for really simple cases. Probably should have retired a long time ago."

Sam nudged Dean's arm and nodded toward the bathroom from which Liv had just emerged. She was walking toward the car but abruptly froze, distracted. They watched her stop, mid-step, on the path. Her posture stiffened. Sam turned to see what had caught her attention and saw a large, bulletin board, covered in leaflets and notifications. Some of them warned of fire hazards, others politely requested that visitors pick up after themselves. He could see a few missing persons fliers, though, and as she hurried toward the board, it appeared to be one of these with which she was so interested.

Liv stared at the flier for nearly a full minute before Sam and Dean climbed out of the car and started walking toward her. It was the echoing slam of the driver's side door when Dean pushed it shut that broke her concentration.

In one swift motion, Liv pulled down the flier and ran toward them.

"He's here, in this town," she said, out of breath. "Look."

The paper wasn't seeking a missing person, as Sam had originally thought. It was trying to identify a found one. The photo was grainy and out of focus but even Sam and Dean, who had no memory of the man and had only seen one photograph, could recognize Rick Tate.

The three piled into the Impala and Sam pulled out the map, again. They were right about the hospital, if not his condition. Rick was being kept in St. Katherine's Hospital for the Infirm. Sam found it easily; it was only a few miles from the rest stop.

"It doesn't say much," Liv said. "Just that he was found fourteen miles from the hospital and was brought there right away. How can they not know who he is? Why wouldn't he tell them to call me?" she demanded, her eyes brimming with tears.

"Maybe he doesn't remember," Sam suggested.

"Could be," Dean said. "He could have amnesia. Maybe hexed or cursed. We've seen it before."

"Or just a good, old-fashioned thump on the head," Sam interrupted.

"Wouldn't they check his ID, though?" Liv asked.

Dean chuckled. "You really don't know much about hunting do you?"

Liv shook her head, her eyes wide.

"We don't always carry ID in our pockets, just in case. A lot of us have criminal records and don't want the police to know who we really are if we get picked up."

"Or maybe he had multiples," Sam added. "We carry seven or eight different identifications, depending on the case. They'd have a real tough time figuring out who he really is if they had a bunch of fake IDs and nothing legitimate."

Liv leaned back in her seat, her fingers gripping the paper like a vice. Her tears had given way and only anger remained.

"Why does he keep doing this?" she asked. "This is not how a father is supposed to act."

The boys were both silent. Neither could think of a single thing to say in response. In truth, they both agreed with her a hundred percent.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey, everybody! I figured I'd throw in a few little notes here: I'm still having trouble with the horizontal rule. It just won't show up for me after publishing. Whenever it seems like an odd transition, most likely there should be a line there indicating a new scene. Unfortunately, it's not showing up on anything I post. I've tried troubleshooting it and nothing seems to work. So, there's that.** **L**

 **When I started this story, I wanted to explore what might happen if Dean and Sam got stuck with a "normal" girl. As you can see, Liv is not particularly tough, or strong. She's a bit of a girly girl and there's not an ounce of hunter in her. So yeah, if you get the feeling she's kinda wimpy, you're right. However… don't get too used to it; things can change in an instant!**

 **For a bit of reference, this would be taking place sometime between Season 6 and Season 7. I try not to mess with the timeline of the series so it's safe to assume that everything has gone as it has on screen.**

 **Hope you're all enjoying. As always, all comments are welcome, even the criticisms. 3**

Liv sat on the edge of the bathtub, her eyes staring blankly at the water below. She dreamily trailed her fingers through the water, disturbing the pool and sending delicate ripples across the surface. Over and over, she replayed the events of that afternoon in her head. The anger was gone entirely, replaced by hurt and pain. So much hurt, her chest ached and her head throbbed. But, she didn't cry.

* * *

"Daddy?" she remembered saying as she walked into his room. He looked so thin, so fragile, wearing a hospital gown and covered only by a thin, white sheet.

Liv saw recognition in his eyes. He knew her; he didn't have amnesia. He knew her and, she was dismayed to realize, he was not happy to see her.

"Are you okay?" she asked, taking a small step toward him. She was frightened by the rage she saw in his eyes, and was thankful that Sam and Dean had stayed behind so that she could greet him, alone.

He didn't respond right away and when he finally did speak, it was to ask his own question.

"What are you doing here?" he practically spat the words.

Liv recoiled, stopping mid-step.

"I've been so worried about you! Why didn't you tell me you were in the hospital? Why didn't you call?" she demanded.

"I didn't need you to come here, god dammit," he growled. "I didn't ask you to come so why are you here?"

His voice grew louder and louder until he was shouting.

Liv's eyes widened and filled with tears. Her father had never been particularly affectionate, but neither had he ever spoken to her with such hatred in his tone. Her cheeks felt hot but the rest of her body was chilled and her skin crawled.

"I thought you might be dead. Why are you here?" she asked, again.

"That's none of your damn business!" her father shouted, again, but even louder.

Liv jumped and took a step back. Behind her, someone knocked on the door. A nurse in light blue scrubs walked in, closely followed by Sam and Dean. Sam stood back, by the door, and mumbled softly, words that Liv couldn't make out.

"Is everything okay?" the nurse asked. No one answered her.

"Why are you being this way?" Liv said, her voice thick with tears.

Rick glared at her before finally answering. "I didn't ask you to come here because I don't want you here. I didn't call because I don't want to talk to you. Since you were born, I've never had any peace. Always have to check in, always have to remember to call at Christmas, or your birthday. And you! Always calling me, always asking me to come and see you. Now you show upqẁ when you can see I didn't want you to come. What do I have to do to be rid of you?" the man yelled.

Through his entire speech, Liv never spoke. Her mouth opened and closed several times but no sound came out. Her face paled and her shoulders slumped. Even when he finished, she couldn't navigate far enough away from the pain and shock to form a response.

"Hey!" Sam shouted. "She's here because she cares about you!"

"Who the hell are you?" Rick asked, his angry glare shifting away from his daughter. "Did you bring her here?"

"I'm a friend," Sam answered. He stepped forward and gently placed a hand on Liv's shoulder. "Come on, we know he's alive, now. We can go."

"Yeah, go with him," Rick called after them. "You can deal with her. She's always been a weak, whiney thing!"

His voice trailed off as Sam guided Liv past the speechless nurse and out the door.

"You're a real son of a bitch, you know that?" Dean said bluntly before following them down the hallway toward the elevator.

* * *

After the disastrous and embarrassing reunion, the three had silently driven through town until they found a small motel with a blinking, neon, vacancy sign. There was only one room available but, mercifully, it had two double beds and the clerk was able to provide for them a small cot. Sam paid with cash, waving away Liv's credit card when she offered it, and wheeled the cot into the room.

"I'll take the cot," Liv said, dismally, finally breaking the awkward silence.

"Nah, I'll take it, I don't mind," Sam said, gently.

Liv laughed quietly, imagining Sam stretched out on the tiny portable bed. She shook her head.

"Really, I'll take it." She dropped her bag on the narrow mattress and settled into an orange chair in the corner.

"Well, thanks," Sam said. She only nodded in response, all remnants of laugher gone from her expression.

Dean stood next to the door. His eyes were narrowed and his jaw set. Liv barely knew him but she could tell that he was angry, perhaps dangerously so, but he made no move and didn't speak.

When Sam's cell phone rang, Liv took advantage of the distraction and slipped into the bathroom. She needed to be alone and a bath was the perfect excuse.

Sam nodded when she waved but Dean didn't even acknowledge her. He seemed completely consumed by dark thoughts and Liv safely chose not to push it.

She started the water, sighing as the hot water warmed her fingertips, and undressed but before she stepped into the bathtub, she was distracted by her own reflection. Time slipped by as she lost herself in her own troubled thoughts.

* * *

In the room outside, Dean had finally snapped out of his moody reverie and was listening to Sam's side of the conversation. He knew that it was Bobby, even without hearing the man's responses.

"Yeah, he was pretty angry," Sam said, into his phone.

Dean saw Sam's eyebrows raise; he was concerned and intrigued by Bobby's comments.

"If you say so, Bobby," Sam said.

After another pause, he continued. "No, I don't think he was possessed. He didn't bat an eye when I started reciting the exorcism rites. I think he was just royally pissed."

A long pause this time. Dean watched his brother, motioning impatiently for him to explain, but Sam just raised his index finger, signaling for Dean to wait.

"That makes sense. It's shitty but I can see where he's coming from."

This time, Sam only waited a few seconds before responding.

"Yeah, okay. Well, get back to us if you think of anything else."

Sam said goodbye quickly and eased himself into the same orange chair that Liv had so recently vacated.

"What did Bobby have to say?" Dean asked, frowning.

"He thinks he knows why Rick was so upset when Liv showed up in his hospital room," Sam answered.

"Yeah? So, what's Rick's excuse for being such a dick?" Dean chuckled. "Rick, the dick. Catchy, right?"

Sam just stared at him. "Yeah. Anyway, Bobby pulled up Rick's hospital record. He's using an old alias – Joseph Moore. He came in about four months ago, unconscious, no ID, nothing. Wakes up nine days later, after they put up all the fliers trying to track down his next of kin."

"And this all happened months before Liv started looking, I'm guessing," Dean said. He walked over to a small cooler they had brought in from the car and popped up the top. It was fully stocked with a bag of ice and a six pack of beer. He cracked one open, groaning with pleasure as he took a long drink.

"Exactly. By the time she starts looking, he's awake and going by Moore. And, even if he had given his real name, she still wouldn't have known because he asked them not to release any information. Legally, they had to comply."

Dean nodded and sat at the foot of one of the beds.

"So, she calls looking for him, they say they don't know anything, and she's still clueless."

"Yep," Sam agreed.

"So, why is he still there, four months later?"

"That's where it gets messy," Sam said, frowning. "Turns out, Rick is really sick. Like, only a few months left, sick. Stage four pancreatic cancer. His chart makes it sound pretty bad."

"Oh, shit," Dean groaned.

"That's not all, either," Sam said. "Bobby thinks Rick's reaction to seeing Liv is completely unlike him. He said Rick loves her more than life, itself. Even if he's never been father of the year, he would never speak to her like that."

"They why did he?"

"Bobby thinks he's embarrassed. Or ashamed."

Dean snorted, derisively. "Come on, man, that's stupid."

"It's not, actually. It makes perfect sense. Rick doesn't want his baby girl to see him weak and powerless. He's always been strong and brave; he didn't want to tarnish her image of him," Sam explained.

Dean thought for a minute for responding. "Yeah, I guess I can see that."

"The question now," Sam said, "is what do we do about it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do we stay and let her keep trying? Or, do we leave and try not to upset him even more?"

Dean shook his head. "That has nothing to do with us, Sammy. She can do whatever she wants but we're heading back in the morning."

"Dean, we can't leave her here, alone. She's vulnerable and her dad is dying. Besides, Bobby doesn't think Rick finished the job before he was admitted. We gotta check it out."

"Ahh, dammit," Dean grumbled. "What is it?"

"From what Bobby can piece together using newspaper reports, it looks like vamps," Sam said, pulling his laptop out of his duffel bag and snapping it open. "I'll do a little more digging."

"Alright. I'm gonna go get some food. You want anything?" Dean asked, grabbing the car keys.

"Salad, please. Caesar," Sam answered, absently. He was already distracted by the computer screen in front of him. "Oh, hey, get Liv something, too."

Dean nodded, muttering to himself, and slammed the door shut behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

When Liv finally stepped out of the bathroom, steam billowing out behind her, the room was empty. A Styrofoam container sat on the table; crumpled food wrappers and wads of used napkins were in a paper bag on one of the chairs. A few empty beer cans were stacked on the small kitchenette's Formica counter.

For an instant, Liv was certain that they had left her behind but a cursory scan of the room proved her wrong. Both of their large, nondescript duffel bags sat on the floor. A long sleeved, flannel shirt hung on one of the chairs. They had left, but they would be back.

The lingering smells of their recent meal drew grumbles of hunger from her empty stomach. Liv dropped her dirty clothes on the cot and hurried over to the table. She pushed open the container and wrinkled her nose at the Greek salad that greeted her. Tofu. Blech. Liv popped an olive into her mouth and walked over to the sink to get a glass of water. When she returned to the table, she noticed the folded up piece of paper on which her name had been scrawled.

Liv- We had to go check out the area. We should be back soon. Dean brought you tofu salad. He thought you might be a vegetarian. Stay in the room. –Sam

Succinct and to the point. Liv appreciated that. What she didn't appreciate were the rubbery squares of tofu mixed in with her salad. She slowly chewed her food, carefully avoiding them. She was amused by their assumption that she didn't eat meat, but still wished they'd brought her something more substantial, like a burger, instead. The salad satisfied her hunger but not her desire for greasy, comfort food.

After draining her glass of water, Liv approached the large window beside the door and pushed aside the curtain. The parking lot was full but the black Impala was nowhere in sight.

Deciding not to wait up, Liv rummaged through her bag for her toothbrush. After cleaning her teeth and wiping down the bathroom counter, she briefly considered brushing the damp mane of knotted hair that trailed down her back. She quickly decided against it and simply ran her fingers through the mess, instead. The clock above the television showed that it was after midnight; she was far too tired to wrestle with that particular chore.

After double-checking the locks on the door, Liv settled onto the cot. It wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as she had expected. With an extra pillow and one of the spare blankets, it was downright cozy. She set up her iPod, selecting one of her favorite, calming playlists. Cat Stevens, Bob Marley, and Carly Simon would serenade her into sweet dreams, or so she hoped. She drifted off after only a few minutes, marveling at how exhausted a person could become after only a long car ride and an emotionally draining afternoon.

* * *

Two hours later, the door to the room burst open. Liv jerked upright and watched as Dean stormed in, holding a shotgun in his right hand. He was closely followed by Sam, who quietly closed the door behind him.

"What is this crap?" he complained. The dusky vocals of Stevie Nicks drifted through the room.

"Jesus, Dean, are you trying to wake everyone up?" Sam asked, ignoring Dean's question. He snapped on the overhead light and jumped about a foot when he saw Liv, sitting on the cot and watching them.

"Well, hello, there," Dean smirked.

Sometime during her nap, the towel that Liv had wrapped around herself had come undone. It still covered most of her more delicate parts, but left little to the imagination. Sam looked at her, his eyes widening, then looked away, before looking back at her. He held up one hand to shield his view of her bare skin.

"Oh, sorry!" Liv exclaimed, wrapping the towel more tightly. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"Oh, hey, we're not uncomfortable," Dean said, grinning even wider. His eyes scanned the feminine curve of her thigh and the gentle sway of her hip. "Whatever floats your boat."

Liv laughed and began searching through her bag; she dug out an oversized t-shirt with the collar and sleeves cut away and slipped it on over the towel. The shirt almost reached her knees and she smoothed it out before tugging the towel away.

"I've never been very shy," she explained. "I actually lived in a nudist cooperative for two years after college."

"Really?" Dean said. "That sounds fascinating."

"Yeah. It drove my dad crazy but my mom loved coming to visit," Liv answered. She carried the towel to the bathroom and used it to squeeze some of the remaining moisture from her hair before hanging it on a hook. When she stepped out of the bathroom, Sam and Dean were staring at each other, wide-eyed.

"Your mom came to visit you at a nudist colony?" Sam asked. He kicked off his boots and hung his jacket on the rack beside the door.

"Yep, every few months. She loved it."

"That's nuts," Dean said, laughing. "Moms aren't supposed to do stuff like that."

"That's exactly what my dad said, but she did it anyway," Liv said.

"Your folks aren't still together, are they?" Sam asked. He had gathered up his pajamas and was walking toward the bathroom.

"No, they haven't been since…" She stopped for a second, her voice trailing off. "Since I was a kid," she finished, lamely.

"Must have been hard," Dean said. He had sprawled across the bed closest to the door, still fully dressed.

"I think it would have been harder if they'd tried to stick it out," Liv said. "They're different people. They're happier apart. It's definitely better this way."

"Do you guys care if I jump in the shower?" Sam asked.

"Nope, I'm good," Liv answered.

Dean groaned but waved away his brother and didn't budge from the bed.

Liv shoved her dirty clothes onto the floor; they had been balled up on the cot beside her. She laid down again, resting her head on the pillow. Less than a minute later, she rolled over onto her other side. A few seconds after that, she sat up and punched the pillow before settling back down.

"You okay?" Dean asked, finally looking up.

"Yeah. I don't think I'm gonna be able to get back to sleep," Liv answered.

"Sorry, we woke you," Dean said, sitting up and leaning against the headboard.

"Yeah, thanks for that," Liv grumbled.

"We aren't used to having other people along," Dean explained.

"Oh. Well, thanks for bringing me. I guess that makes us even," Liv said, drawing her knees up to her chin and crossing her ankles. She absently ran her fingers through her still wet hair, wincing each time they caught on a new tangle.

"Do you have a brush?" Dean demanded, abruptly. He didn't understand why her wild nest of snarls bothered him so much, but it did. It had bothered him since they'd met.

Liv looked up, frowning. "Yeah, why?"

"Just get it," he growled, scooting closer to the edge of the bed and pulling off his heavy denim jacket, which he threw onto the bed beside him. "And give it to me."

Liv plunged her hand into her bag and dug around until she found her hairbrush. She stood up and walked toward him, handing it over.

"Sit down," he ordered, patting a spot on the bed just in front of him. Liv sat, obediently.

Her hair was surprisingly soft against his fingers as he struggled to pull the brush threw the long, dark tresses. After only a minute, he realized he'd have to start at the bottom and work his way up. Inch by inch, he painstakingly detangled her locks. A full ten minutes past before he realized he was enjoying the task. Her delicate waves curled around his fingers. It was oddly satisfying to work his way through a knot, leaving only smooth, satiny strands behind.

"My mom used to brush my hair for me," Liv murmured.

Dean looked over her shoulder and saw that her eyes were closed and she was smiling, just slightly. Behind them, Bob Marley began singing to them an uplifting story of three little birds. He'd never heard the song before, at least not that he remembered, and he was almost ashamed to admit to himself that he liked it quite a bit.

"It's too bad she stopped," he said, frowning, but his tone was much softer. Liv just continued smiling.

He was suddenly dizzyingly aware of how close she was sitting; the outer edges of her thighs were nestled between his. He realized that her scent was more similar to cinnamon than patchouli, with maybe a hint of lavender? It wafted off of her hair, further awakening his senses. His fingers slowed and finally grew still; the tangles had all been eliminated but he was hesitant to move his hand away.

"All done?" she asked, turning slowly to face him. He realized that her lips were mere inches away from his and it was swiftly becoming harder to breathe, as if all the air had been sucked out of the room."

"Yeah, I think so," he said, quietly. Had her eyes always been such a lovely shade of golden brown, the vibrant amber hue of summer honey, fresh from the hive? Had her skin always been so smooth and supple? Her scent was intoxicating.

Before he was even aware of it happening, his mouth was on hers. Her lips were as soft and sweet as ripe, Georgia peaches. One of her arms reached up and wrapped tightly around his neck; the other rested on his chest where her hand clutched at the collar of his shirt, holding him close. His arms slid around her waist and suddenly she was in his lap. The kiss grew in intensity until they both were gasping for air each time they drew apart for a fraction of a second. Dean's fingers dug into the small of her back, leaving tiny crescent marks from his nails.

Unexpectedly, the door to the bathroom opened. Liv flung herself away from him and stood clumsily at the foot of the bed. Her arms hung straight down her sides and her hands were balled up into tight fists. She stared at Dean, her eyes wide and unsure. He cleared his throat and wiped his mouth. Sam started through the door, dressed in his flannel pajama pants and a t-shirt.

"It's all yours, man," Sam said. He hadn't seen anything, Dean was relieved to realize.

"Great, thanks," he answered. "Here's your brush, Liv." He tossed it onto the cot.

"Oh. Thanks," she answered, awkwardly.

Dean rushed into the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind him. Liv returned to her cot and lay down, turning only briefly to say goodnight to Sam.

"Night," he said, an eyebrow cocked, questioningly. The tension in the room was palpable, but inexplicable.

* * *

Dean stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. He splashed handfuls of cold water onto his face and let it trail down and drip into the sink. What the hell had he been thinking?

She wasn't just another random fling, a waitress in a bar or a midnight stripper. She was a fellow hunter's daughter, for Christ's sake. And she was a good friend of Bobby's. Just what would Bobby say, if he knew what had happened?

Dean turned and leaned against the counter. He felt hot and uncomfortable, and distantly ashamed. It was wrong. He was supposed to be helping her, protecting her, even. But, he couldn't help thinking, had he even been the one who initiated the kiss? It started so quickly. He'd wanted it, of course… but had he actually acted on it, first?

He remember teasing Sam, earlier in the day, about having a crush on Liv. Dean wasn't a entirely sure it was true, but he would never try anything with a girl Sam liked, or even a girl Sam _might_ like. Would he?

He shook his head, sending water spraying onto the mirror. It didn't matter. He couldn't change the past but he could control the future.

It would never happen, again.

* * *

 **Thank you so much for the positive review! As long as at least one person is reading and enjoying, I will continue posting! I know it's kind of sporadic but that's the system that happens to work best for me!**


	5. Chapter 5

Two days later, Liv found herself sitting on the single bed in her small motel room. She'd checked into her own room as soon as it became available. The tension in the previous room, where the boys now slept, had become unbearable. Dean wouldn't even look at her, let alone speak to her, and Sam had no idea why the casual atmosphere had become so awkward. They all breathed a sigh of relief when Liv was able to pack her few belongings and move two doors down the hall.

She was waiting for Sam, who had offered to drive her to the hospital. Her father was still not speaking to her but she insisted on dropping in each day, just to say hello - just to let him know that she was still there. Sometimes, Sam stayed and they would have lunch in the hospital cafeteria. More often, he would leave to research the vampire case he and Dean were working. On those days, she would walk back to the motel and spend her evenings alone, watching old game shows on the tiny, black and white television and nuking spaghettios for dinner. It was lonely, and emotionally draining, but she didn't want to leave her father and, besides, she had no way to get home on her own.

When Sam's gentle tapping on the solid, metal door finally came, Liv jumped up, anxious to get out of the dingy room. She slipped on her sandals and let herself out, locking the door behind her.

"You ready?" Sam asked.

"Yep, let's get out of here," she answered. The Impala was parked in front of their room, three parking spaces away.

Liv smiled when Sam held open the car door for her, as he always did. Ever the gentleman, she thought.

"Thanks," she murmured, sliding across the black, leather.

"Hey, are you hungry?" Sam asked, after he had maneuvered his tall frame into the driver's seat, but before starting the car. "We can stop for lunch before heading over to the hospital."

Liv wasn't in any real hurry, and she found herself looking forward to a real lunch in a real restaurant with real company.

"Yeah, that sounds good. I'm tired of those soggy cafeteria fries."

They didn't speak again until he pulled into the Biggerstaff's parking lot, but it was an easy silence, nothing like the uncomfortable and sometimes hostile brooding that accompanied any time spent in Dean's company.

"Booth or table?" the surly, middle-aged waitress asked them. She was dressed in the typical orange and red uniform; her hair was tinted a matching shade of shocking magenta and was piled on top of her head in a beehive. She cracked her gum at them, impatiently.

"Booth, please," Sam answered, flashing a charming smile, which the waitress blatantly ignored.

"Where's Dean today?" Liv asked, making a clumsy attempt to be nonchalant. They had nestled into opposite sides of the window booth and she was scanning the menu, not really registering the items. She scolded herself for sounding so lame, but was relieved when Sam didn't appear to notice her poorly camouflaged interest.

"He's still asleep. I guess he was out pretty late," Sam answered.

"You're not like him, a night owl, are you?" she asked.

"Nah, I like to stay in and relax, most of the time," he laughed. "What about you?"

"Me, too. I'm a home body. Plus, I work a lot of nights and evenings," she said, dropping her menu on the table.

"You know, I never asked what you do. You said you went to college, right?"

"Just for three years. I work at a funeral home."

Sam's eyes widened.

"Really? What do you do there?"

Liv shrugged. "A little bit of everything. I'm a licensed funeral director and embalmer. I'd rather spend all my time in the prep room, though."

"Prep room?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, where they work on the bodies. Preparing them for services, embalming, stuff like that," she said, grinning at his surprised expression.

"You'd rather work with… the bodies?"

"Definitely," she answered. "I prefer the dead. They're quieter."

The scowling waitress cleared her throat, startling them both. She had snuck up on them and was now tapping her pen against her notebook. Liv noticed the woman's yellowing, acrylic fingernails, which were long and decidedly unappealing.

"Wanna order something?" the waitress grumbled.

"Oh, yeah! I'll have a cheeseburger, fries, and iced tea," Liv answered, smiling brightly. Sam ordered his customary salad, dressing on the side, and a diet coke.

Time spent with Sam was calm, and comfortable. He was easy to talk to, almost always in a good mood, and genuinely seemed to enjoy talking to her, in return. They spoke effortlessly, making fun of the grumpy waitress and taking turns being overly nice each time she stopped by their table to fill their glasses or bring ketchup for Liv's fries. He asked about Liv's work, her father, her life in general. She told him about her older sister, whom she lived with, and step-siblings. She told him how challenging it was to be a relatively young, female in the funeral industry. He told her about growing up on the road, his father, and some of their more exciting adventures. She sensed that he enjoyed being open and honest; she could hear the relief in his tone. She chalked it up to how, so often, he had to hide the truth from people he met. He even told her about Jess, and his mother.

Almost two hours later, after countless check-ins from the increasingly brusque waitress, they finally stood up to leave.

"Hey, we should go out tonight," Sam said, abruptly, after they had paid their separate bills at the counter.

"You mean a date?" Liv asked, cautiously. The memory of her frantic kiss with Dean flashed through her mind.

"No, no!" Sam insisted. "Just go out, have a few beers, get out of our rooms for an evening. I think I'd have more fun with you than with Dean, anyway."

Liv was relieved, but she wasn't quite sure why. She liked Sam, for sure. He was so much easier to talk to than Dean. But, Sam was safe, almost brotherly. He was attractive, only a fool would dispute that, but the idea of going on date with him seemed inexplicably silly.

"Okay, yeah. That sounds great."

"Awesome," he said, opening the passenger side door for her. "Besides," he added, "Bobby would skin me alive if I ever tried anything with you. That'd be suicide!" Sam laughed, and Liv forced a smile in return, remembering, again, the kiss with Dean and his refusal to acknowledge her presence since it had happened.

* * *

She knew it wasn't a date, but that didn't stop her from agonizing over what to wear. Her wardrobe was unpleasantly sparse; she had only brought a few items along and her choices were extremely limited. She finally settled on a pair of dark-wash blue jeans that tightly hugged her hips and legs, a cream colored, silk, tank top with a narrow, triangular lace cutaway in the back, and the only pair of dressy shoes she owned – high-heeled sandals that made her toes ache but also added a few inches to her otherwise minimal height.

Ever since that night with Dean, Liv had made a conscious effort to keep her hair brushed and tamed at all times. After dressing, and in celebration of her evening out, she decided to plait it into an intricate braid that fell over her left shoulder, showing off the lacey back of her shirt. Liv was disappointed by the overall effect, imaging the extravagant seductresses that would most likely be heavily scattered throughout the bar Sam had chosen. She was certain she would look shabby and rough in comparison, but had to accept that nothing more could be done. She didn't even know how to apply any kind of makeup, beyond lip gloss and a little mascara, which she had already done with a light hand.

Frowning at her reflection in the mirror, Liv twisted and turned. It wasn't a date, but she was going out with a handsome, young man, and she didn't want to look pathetic sitting next to him. She fiddled with her hair, which hung down far enough that the curled end tickled the sensitive skin of her midriff. She contemplated pulling out the already frazzled braid, scrutinized her behind in the tight jeans, and had decided to just call and cancel when a heavy knocking shook the door. Liv's heart sank an inch at the sound; Sam didn't knock like that, but she knew exactly who did.

When she opened the door, he stared at her for several seconds, his eyes narrowing. Liv felt shy, and embarrassed, and didn't know why. Finally, he cleared his throat and looked away.

"Are you ready?" he asked, gruffly.

"I guess so. Are you going, too?"

"Yeah. There's only one decent bar in this garbage town and I was gonna go, anyway, so Sam figured we should all ride, together," he answered.

Liv turned away, reaching for her sweater, and groaned, inwardly. She cursed herself for not cancelling and wondered if it was too late. But, he had already seen her, clearly dressed for a night out, and she had no excuses prepared.

"Alrighty, then. Let's go," she said, sliding through the doorway and past his sturdy form.


	6. Chapter 6

**This chapter was a lot of fun to write; I hope people enjoy it! It's a little funny, a little sexy, a little angsty. I did change the rating to M, just to be safe, although I don't think it's too racy, yet. Reviews and comments are always welcome and appreciated!**

* * *

Liv hated beer, especially cheap beer. Dean had told her it was the only decent bar in town but it was still a dump. It was dark and dank and played the kind of country music that would make Johnny Cash cringe.

The tiny, ramshackle bar wasn't far from the motel, no more than two miles, so at least the trip over hadn't been too uncomfortable. Liv had sat in the back seat, picking at her nails and pretending to be invisible. Sam and Dean had chatted about the case; they were definitely getting close and had even taken down a few of the local vamps, but Sam was convinced there was another hideout where the leader might still be holed up. Liv listened but without much interest. She'd been listening to her father ramble on about cases since she was a child.

Inside, she and Sam had found a couple of empty stools at the long, dirty bar and she hadn't moved since. While Dean downed bottle after bottle, Sam drank only two, and Liv nursed one, cringing with each sip. After fifteen minutes, it was not only cheap beer, it was warm, cheap beer, and she longed for a refreshing, iced margarita, rimmed with salt. The bald, tattooed bartender had given her a petulant look when she asked for one, so she'd glumly settled for the beer.

"Do you play pool?" Sam asked her, motioning toward the two pool tables, where Dean was hustling a few good-old-boys. Liv could see they were in over their heads; several twenty dollar bills were stacked on the edge of the table and Dean was meticulously dropping ball after ball into the pockets. The men shook their heads, and groaned, with each thud as the heavy balls disappeared from view.

"I know how. My dad taught me when I was a teenager. I was never very good," Liv answered, taking another tiny drink of her skunky beer.

"Do you wanna play?" he asked. "That table's open."

Liv jumped down from the stool and nodded. "Sure, just don't embarrass me, too much, okay?"

Sam laughed and nodded. "I'm no pro, either. That's Dean. But, I'm not terrible."

Sam talked her into breaking and the entire group at the table next to them, Dean included, watched closely and laughed when only two balls scattered away from the rest. Liv blushed, wishing she hadn't agreed to play.

"It's okay," Sam said, glaring at his brother. "You just didn't put enough force behind it. Can I show you?" He pulled the two detached balls back into place and stepped closer to her.

Liv nodded, letting him guide her into a more effective position.

"Hold it like this," he said. He slid her hand up the pool cue and they both laughed when, even in the heels, she couldn't reach as far as he wanted her to. "Well… maybe not quite that close to the tip."

With Sam's help, she was able to send several more of the balls careening around the table, knocking one of them into a corner pocket. It wasn't long before her turn ended and, when Sam took over, he easily beat her in one turn.

"Let's play, again," Liv said. Dean's game had ended and he was leaning against the wall, watching them play. Liv was sorely aware of his eyes on her and she couldn't help but be embarrassed by her lack of skill at a game he clearly excelled at.

"I have an idea," he said, suddenly. He set down his beer bottle and hurried over to the bar. Liv and Sam watched, their sticks propped up in their hands.

"Oh, man, that's not fair!" Sam said, but he was grinning, broadly. Dean had returned, carrying a tray of shots. Each glass was filled with amber liquid. Liv's stomach dropped.

"What are those for?" she asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"Sometimes, Dean and I play for shots," Sam answered. His smile widened. "See, there's sixteen balls and sixteen shots. Each time your opponent pockets a ball, you take a shot."

"What?!" Liv exclaimed. "I can't do that many shots; I'll die!"

"Ah, no you won't," Dean said. "Besides, you two can play against me. That's fair, right?"

"I dunno, is that fair, Sam?" Liv asked

"Not really," Sam admitted. "Dean's good. I mean, really good. We'll be flat on our asses in no time."

"Awww, Sammy, stop. You're making me blush!" Dean said. He pulled off his outer layer, a long sleeved, dark grey, khaki shirt, and tossed it onto a nearby chair. In just his black t-shirt, he was even more intimidating. "Whadda you say, Liv? You up for it? Or, are you too scared? You can even go first!"

Liv considered her options. She could say no, and run away like a wimp, or she could say yes, and probably pass out at some point but hang onto her pride. It seemed unlikely that she'd end up having to do more than four shots, which was definitely more than enough, but wasn't unheard of. Pride won out and, with a heavy sigh, she found herself nodding.

"Alright, fine. What are they, anyway?"

"Tequila!" both men shouted, in unison.

"Always tequila, for pool shots," Sam said. "I'm breaking."

Twenty minutes later, Liv's throat burned but she was decidedly more relaxed and was even starting to enjoy herself. She hadn't made a shot, in the game, for her past three turns. Out of the game, she and Sam had each done four shots of tequila and she was still tasting them.

"Oh, man, you're sooooooo bad," Sam said, giggling. His face was bright red, probably because he kept doubling over each time she missed, laughing at her terrible aim.

"I know, I told you!" Liv groaned. "This is all your fault!" She pointed at Dean, who had only been stuck with three shots, all but one courtesy of Sam. The only shot Liv had made had been an accident; she wasn't even looking but, by some miracle, had stumbled forward at just the right angle and sent a single ball into a hole. Thankfully, it hadn't been the eight ball, which would have meant she had to finish all of the remaining shots on her own, Sam explained.

"My fault? Listen, I expected Sam to be a little bit of help. It's not my fault your partner can't get his ass out of his head long enough to line up his shots." He stepped forward and prepared for his turn. Liv watched him as he skillfully knocked two balls into two separate pockets. "One each, get 'em down."

Liv moaned but took the glass he offered. Her vision was getting fuzzy, even with her glasses, and she was having trouble standing straight upright. The tequila went down smooth but the burn that followed made her eyes water. Sam knocked his back and grimaced.

Dean's turn ended, abruptly, when a waitress dropped an entire tray of empty glasses and bottles. The clatter distracted him just long enough to ruin his shot, and then it was his brother's turn.

"Son of a bitch," Dean cursed, but stepped back to give Sam room to maneuver. There were only three balls left on the table.

"Alright, this is it," Sam announced. He cracked his knuckles and shook his head. One, two, three, the balls disappeared. Dean watched silently, and dropped each glass on the counter, upside down, after draining them.

"We win!" Liv shouted and she and Sam shared a celebratory embrace. He lifted her up off the ground and they cheered, together.

"I got robbed," Dean insisted.

"We won, fair and square," Sam said, playfully nudging his brother's shoulder.

"Rematch," Dean barked.

"I can't, for real, I really, really can't drink anymore tequila," Liv said. For some reason, it was imperative that she say this directly into his face. One of her heels caught on a bar stool and her ankle bowed out, knocking her off balance.

"Yeah, I think we better get her back to the motel," Sam said, grabbing onto her elbow to steady her. "We can rematch tomorrow night."

"I can't drive home," Liv shouted. She slung her purse over her shoulder and headed toward the door.

"You don't even have a car," Sam said, laughing. "Hang on, we gotta pay our tab!"

"Go get her, I'll take care of that," Dean said. He wavered toward the bar on unsteady feet and slapped a hundred dollar bill beside the register and waved at the bartender. "Does that cover it?" he asked, louder than necessary.

"Yeah, buddy, that covers it," the bartender answered, slipping the hundred into his pocket. "Hey, man, you okay to drive?"

"Nope," Dean answered, and followed Sam and Liv out the door.

* * *

They were several yards beyond the parking lot, with their arms slung around each other. Dean could hear them singing Highway to Hell; they were butchering the lyrics but the tune was unmistakable.

"Where the hell are you going?" he called after them.

"We're walking," Liv said, waving her purse at him. "Come on, you can't drive, you crazy."

"Yeah, we're defenders of the innocent," Sam shouted. "We can't drive drunk, it's irrspenonsible."

"That's not a word," Dean grumbled, but hurried after them with one last, longing look at the Impala. Real or not, it would most definitely be irrspenonsible of him to drive back to the motel after six shots and an unmentionable number of beers.

On the way home, he tried to teach them the right words to the various songs they insisted on singing, but they didn't seem interested in accuracy. On the contrary, Liv kept making up comical lyrics that Dean knew she didn't believe were right. He thought she might be doing it on purpose, to antagonize him.

"Alright, no more singing," he finally cried out, after she'd turned Eye of the Tiger into an insulting mockery. By then, they'd been walking for more than twenty minutes and she was perched on Sam's back. He'd offered to carry her, piggy-back, after she'd complained that her feet were in agony.

"Don't be so crankers," Liv said, poking Dean in the shoulder. "You're always so angry and serious." She made a face at him, scrunching her features into a surprisingly accurate representation of his typical, grim expression.

"I'm not angry," he said, angrily.

"Yes, you are," Liv said, in a sing-song voice.

"You are; you're angry," Sam added, nodding persistently.

"I am not," Dean growled. He tried to look fierce but tripped over his heavy boots. The world was still dangerously misaligned.

Liv giggled but didn't comment. The motel loomed ahead of them, the parking lot illuminated by the blinking vacancy sign.

Sam burped and he stopped short, dropping Liv who, somehow, managed to land on her feet. "I'm gonna throw up," he said, matter-of-factly. Dean watched him sprint toward their motel room door and frantically force it open.

"Uh, oh," Liv said.

"Hang on," Dean said, following Sam into the room. He heard the unmistakable sound of retching echoing from the bathroom, and thanked God that Sam had made it to the toilet. He hated the smell of puke; it always made him feel like he was going to join in. "You okay, Sammy?"

Sam was crouched on the bathroom floor, his face resting on the porcelain bowl. He had shed his jacket and long sleeved flannel. He smiled up at Dean and waved him away.

"I'm fine. Feel better now."

Dean sighed and helped Sam to his feet. Cringing, he handed Sam the bottle of mouthwash and, after insisting Sam rinse his mouth, helped him to his bed.

"Take off your shoes," Dean ordered. Sam complacently obeyed before collapsing onto the bed. He was snoring, almost immediately. "I'm gonna make sure Liv got into her room, okay?" Sam only grunted and rolled over onto his side.

Outside, Liv was standing outside her own room's door, fiddling with her key.

"I can't get it open," she said, despondently.

"Here, let me do it," Dean said, taking the key from her. It took him a few tries but, eventually, he was able to push the door open. The room was dark, and chilly. Hardly aware that he was doing it, he followed her into the room and closed the door.

"Thanks," Liv murmured. She slid her sweater off and draped it over a chair. "I'll be right back."

After she disappeared into the bathroom, Dean sat on the edge of the bed. He didn't know what he was still doing there. It seemed rude to just leave without saying goodbye, though. He looked around, taking in the feminine chaos. It wasn't mess, per se; she just had more "stuff" than he or Sam. Lotions and creams sat on the bedside table next to her hairbrush and cell phone charger. Shoes were scattered around the floor. A satin bra hung on the bathroom doorknob.

When she emerged from the bathroom, her feet were bare. She approached him, slowly. He could sense her confusion; she didn't know why he was there, either.

"I'm sorry I hustled you," he finally said.

"You didn't. I knew you were good so it's not really hustling."

"Still, it wasn't really fair." He didn't know what else to talk about. As each quiet second passed, he considered getting up and leaving, just saying goodnight and disappearing out the door. But he didn't.

She had stopped, right in front of him. He didn't have to look up too far to be able to catch her gaze. As if in a dream, he watched her lean forward and push his jacket and long sleeved shirt down and off of his shoulders. He slid his arms out of them and tossed them onto the floor. When she bent down, he leaned forward, agonizingly slow, and, when their lips finally met, it was like an electric shock jolted through his body.

He felt an aching, down low in the pit of his stomach, that throbbed and radiated when he reached up and slid his hands beneath her shirt and up her sides. He grasped the fabric and tugged it up and over her head. The bra she wore was pink and white, adorned with tiny bows. The sight of her full, firm breasts peeking out over the top filled him with an almost painful desire. They drew apart and he trailed the tips of his fingers around her navel and upward, marveling at the smooth, softness of her flesh, tracing the outline of a tattoo he hadn't seen before - a dandelion stem and its' seeds, floating across the lower half of her belly on an invisible wind.

Liv's fingers twisted through his hair, gripping it tightly. She let out quiet, whispery sighs as his fingers explored her body. Dean reached up with one hand to free her mane from its' unruly braid. He wanted to feel those silky strands against his skin.

Dean leaned forward, again, and pressed his lips against her stomach. Her skin was tender and sweet, as sweet as her lips, and he found himself wrapping his arms around her waist. When he felt her fingers tighten on the fabric of his t-shirt, he let her pull it off of him. The sensation of his skin against hers was luscious.

Resting his forehead against her stomach, he popped open the top button of her jeans and started pulling them down. They were so tight; he was bizarrely reminded of peeling an orange. He eased them down and over her hips, revealing the pink and white bikini panties that matched her bra. He hooked his fingers into the thin, delicate fabric and was about to pull them down, as well, when an unwelcome but familiar beep resounded through the room.

His cell phone, his fucking, piece of garbage cell phone, was chirping cheerfully from his jacket pocket.

"Son of a fucking bitch," Dean growled. His fingertips slowly, regretfully, pulled away from the hem of her panties and he reached for his jacket.

"Who is it?" Liv asked, dreamily. Dean looked up at her, saw the want in her eyes, and felt a sudden and overwhelming urge to fling the stupid phone out the window. It passed quickly, though, and when he finally found the phone and checked the message, he resigned himself to the unpleasant reality.

"It's Sam. He got a call from the police chief." Dean struggled back into his t-shirt, an unrelenting string of curses running through his head. "They found another body." He looked up at her again, wanting more than anything to not have to say what had to come next.

"Oh, no," Liv said. She had wrapped her arms around her chest. Dean saw the goose bumps on her skin and longed to pull her back into his arms so he could warm her, properly.

"I have to go," he finished, a stoic finality in his tone.

* * *

Five minutes later, he was in driver's seat of the Impala, angered into sobriety. Sam sat next to him, his bloodshot eyes closing for several seconds each time he blinked. Neither of them had bothered with suits; Sam was, in fact, still wearing his pajama pants.

"Where were you?" Sam asked, thickly. Dean looked over, rubbing his chin, and contemplated honestly.

"Nowhere. Just walking around," he finally answered.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean's back was literally up against a wall. Sweat trickled down the side of his face and stung his eyes. Rows of razor-sharp teeth snapped shut, just inches from his nose. The vampire was a strong son of a bitch.

"God dammit, Sammy!" Dean shouted. "Get this thing off me!"

Sam was, unfortunately, otherwise engaged; another vamp, a female with long, blonde hair and powder, blue eyes, was straddling his waist and throwing punch after punch. Each blow connected, solidly, with his jaw. He was barely conscious.

The blonde was bait, but they didn't realize the truth until it was too late. She had been luring men to the old, run down barn for months, but tonight, one step ahead of Sam and Dean, she had played a different part – that of the victim. Her partner had chatted her up in the bar, knowing the hunters were watching. When they finally walked out, arm in arm, Sam and Dean had followed, not realizing the danger ahead of them. The male vamp guided her into the barn, stumbling and laughing much too loud, and the unsuspecting brothers had followed without reservation. They didn't realize she wasn't really drunk and vulnerable until the door slammed shut behind them and they were jumped.

Dean couldn't believe how fast it had all gone down; one second he was scanning the darkened enclosure for the woman, hoping they could save her in time, and the next he was smashed against the wall and his head was about to be bitten off.

"Sam!" Dean hollered. His grip on the vampire's collar was weakening. "Come on, Sammy, I can't hold him much longer!"

The vampire grinned and thrust his head forward. Dean felt the fangs graze his jaw, slicing open a fresh wound. When the vamp pulled away, its' mouth was smeared with blood.

"Come on, give it up! I'll make it fast," the thing snarled before bursting into maniacal laughter.

Dean groaned and was vaguely aware that his feet were dangling above the ground. The motherfucker was so strong that he had been lifted up in the air. He thrashed around in the vampire's grip, fighting desperately to free himself. His boots knocked against the wooden wall behind him but found nothing to use as leverage. He was hung, with nothing in reach to save him. He felt the vampire's fingers close around his throat, choking off his airway.

"Fuck you, you blood-sucking dickbag," Dean forced out, and immediately regretted letting go of the little bit of air remaining in his lungs. The vampire tightened his grip and Dean saw stars, dancing just in front of his face.

On the floor, the blonde was whooping and cheering. She had turned to watch her partner attack, to enjoy what would surely be the death strike. He took his time, though. They both watched Dean's eyelids flutter.

"No, baby, make it slow!" she shouted. "Make him pay for what he did to our family!" She didn't notice Sam rousing, or his arms slowly probing the ground around him, searching for something, anything, that could be used as a weapon.

On the wall, the world around Dean was darkening. _This is it_ , he thought to himself. _This is how it's gonna end_. He was almost too tired to care. He thought of his mother; she would be waiting for him, he hoped. His father, too, but that might not be the happiest reunion. He was mildly disappointed that his dying would surely be a death sentence for Sam, as well. No way would Sam be able to get out of this, not on his own.

The darkness was quickly overwhelming him. Bobby would be pissed, for sure. Dean hoped the old bastard would be able to find their bodies, to salt and burn them, properly. He also hoped he wouldn't find himself in hell, again, but it seemed likely. That was upsetting. _What a load of crap_ , he mused. _Choked to death by a vengeful vamp and his playboy bunny of a girlfriend_.

In the midst of his dismal musings, he thought of Liv. Liv and her tattoos; Liv and her mane of tangled hair; Liv and her girly pink, lace panties. Liv and her crappy music that she hummed along to, even in her sleep. He remembered kissing her, and how soft her lips had been. She had been so warm, so inviting. As the darkness enveloped him, and the world finally faded away, he wished he had been able to tell her the truth, to tell her how he really felt. Guys like him weren't allowed to find love; that had been proven to him when he'd almost had to watch Lisa die, but, if he was really going to be honest with himself, he would have liked to have tried again with Liv.

"Sammy," he breathed. He had just decided to let go, to succumb to the nothingness, when the pressure on his trachea relaxed and, ultimately, released entirely. Air, sweet and plentiful, flooded his lungs. He gasped and coughed as strong arms gently lowered him to the ground.

"Dean! Are you okay? Breathe, Dean!" Sam shouted, right into his face.

Dean rolled onto his side, groaning.

"Jesus, man, I'm not deaf," he said, his voice as gravelly as a dirt road.

"Holy shit, Dean, I thought you were dead!" Sam said.

"Yeah, so did I. Help me up, will ya?"

Sam hauled him up until he was sitting with his back, again, against the wall. Beside them, the male vampire was in two pieces. Sam had cut off his head with a rusty scythe. The female was in a similar state of disassemble. Her blond hair was now red, and dripping; her cloudy, blue eyes stared up at them from two or three feet away. Dean cringed at the sight.

The abrupt change in elevation made his head spin and he nearly passed out, again. Sam grabbed onto his shoulders and held him upright.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, again. Dean's head jerked up and, miraculously, he was able to focus on Sam's hazel eyes. He shook his head, and his gaze fell on a blood-covered farm implement that he assumed was the weapon that saved his life.

"What is that? A scythe?" Dean asked. He rubbed his reddening throat. The pain was unbearable. He imagined it would be days before the simple act of speaking didn't bring tears to his eyes.

"Yeah," Sam said. He was still out of breath. "I found it on the floor."

"Nice one. Death, himself, would be proud," Dean said, grinning up at his brother.

Sam crouched down, eyeing his brother's throat. "Are you okay? He got you pretty good on the chin."

Dean reached up and wiped away the stream of blood with the back of his hand. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'll be better when we're out of this damn barn, though."

With monumental help from Sam, Dean was able to, gracelessly, scramble to his feet. The stars hadn't faded entirely but he was able to take a few tentative steps without passing out, an act that he saw as progress. Together, they made their way out of the barn and several yards through the woods to where the Impala waited.

"I think I better drive," Sam said, delicately. Dean stiffened but nodded in bitter assent.

When Dean was finally settled into the passenger seat, and Sam had maneuvered the car down the old, lumber road and onto the paved ground, again, they were able to go over the events that led to the barn.

"She was a lure. I figured out their game," Dean said.

"That's what I thought, too," Sam answered.

"She lured the guys there, where they would all feast."

"Except tonight," Sam said. "Tonight, she pretended to be an innocent in danger."

"So we'd follow," Dean growled. "She knew who we were, and that we'd try to save her. Evil bitch."

"Do you think that was the last of them?" Sam asked. The road was dark and winding, the air cool and crisp. Dean shivered but didn't roll up his window. The cold breeze was soothing, inside and out.

"Yeah. I think she was the leader. He was just her gopher," he answered.

"I still can't believe he got the jump on you," Sam said. He eyed his brother with questioning concern.

Dean shook his head. "Me neither," he said. "They were both quiet. That barn was their lair; they knew all the creaks and hurdles. Sneaky sons of bitches."

"Do you think we should have burned it?" Sam asked, suddenly.

"Nah," Dean said. "They're dead. It'll be weeks before anybody finds them." He settled back in the seat and closed his eyes. His throat felt like raw hamburger.

The next few minutes were undisturbed. The reliable purr of the Imapala's engine was soothing to his mood but Dean could sense Sam's disquiet; he could usually tell when his brother wanted to talk about something, but he didn't have the energy to pry.

"Hey, Dean…" Sam finally said, interrupting the silence.

"What?" Dean said, flatly, without looking up.

"I don't wanna get too personal but I heard what you were saying," Sam said, carefully.

"What do you mean?"

"Before you passed out, when he had you against the wall. You were mumbling," Sam said.

"No, I wasn't," Dean insisted. He finally opened his eyes and glared at his brother through the darkness.

"Yeah, you were. Your head was flopping around and you were mumbling something."

"So, what?" Dean said, bluntly. "What does it matter? I was almost dead, I was rambling. I don't even remember what was going through my mind." It was a lie; he remembered everything that flew through his head in the moments before what would have been his death, but he wasn't about to admit any of that to Sam.

"Oh. Yeah, okay," Sam said.

Another few minutes of silence passed before he shouted, making Sam jump and causing his bruised throat to sing sharply. "Alright, what did you hear? Dammit!"

"I heard you saying her name."

"Shit," Dean hissed.

"You care about her," Sam said, using his most delicate tone.

Dean didn't respond for several minutes. Sam slowed the car, flicked on the blinker, and pulled into the motel's parking lot. He shut off the engine. The ensuing silence was palpable. They sat in the car, in the dark, without speaking.

"Yeah, I guess I do," Dean finally said.

"Why didn't you say something earlier?" Sam asked. Dean thought he sensed disappointment in Sam's voice, but he couldn't be sure.

"Because, I don't want to," Dean said. "In case you hadn't noticed, people we care about get hurt, or killed, or worse. Look what happened to Mom. Jo and Ellen… Bobby's wife. Even Jess. They're all dead. We had to scramble Lisa's brain just to keep her safe from the shit that follows us around, for Christ's sake. People we care about get fucked over in the worst possible ways."

Sam nodded. "That's true. But, she's different, isn't she?"

Dean looked at him, his eyebrows raised. "What do you mean?"

"Well, her dad's a hunter. She already knows about everything. And, she's a lot tougher than she seems."

"It's not enough," Dean said, shaking his head. "It doesn't matter because I can't keep her safe, no matter what."

"Maybe not," Sam said, nodding. "But she cares about you, too. Doesn't that make it worth it?"

"No way," Dean growled.

Sam sighed. "That's your decision, then. But, I'll tell you this – I'd give anything to have Jess back. I'd do things differently, but I wouldn't leave her. Call me selfish, but I wouldn't give her up. Dad and Bobby would say the same about Mom and Karen, you know it's true. They wouldn't give up any time with the women they loved."

Sam opened his door and crawled out. He tossed the keys onto the seat and headed toward their room, without speaking another word.

Dean spent another ten minutes in the car. Two spaces down, the door to Liv's room was closed and the windows were dark. She would be sleeping, curled up in a little ball on the queen sized bed. She'd only shared their room for two nights, but he already knew she always slept that way.

He sat and deliberated, going over every scenario and situation, sorting through his options.

"I can't do it again," he finally said to himself. "I can't risk something happening to someone else."

* * *

The door opened, easily. He didn't have a key, but he'd been picking locks since before he could walk. A simple, cheap motel room was no match for his burgling skills.

He smiled when he saw her, curled up just as he'd known she would be. That enormous bed and she took up less than a quarter of it, with her knees drawn up to her chin. He slipped off his jacket and flannel shirt and tossed them aside. His throat burned as the collar of his t-shirt slid up and over it, chafing against the abrasion there. Kicking off his boots, he stepped toward the bed and let his jeans and boxers fall to the ground. He even tugged off his socks before sliding beneath the covers and pulling her into his arms.

She gasped and started to pull away, but stopped when he murmured her name.

"Jesus, Dean, you scared the piss out of me!" she said, in a frantic whisper.

He held her closer and buried his face in her neck, peppering her throat and collarbone with kisses, and pulled the ragged t-shirt she wore as a nightgown, the only thing she wore, up and over her head. Her flesh was warm against his, invigorating him with renewed energy.

"You're freezing cold," she said, softly, and shuddered.

His lips finally met hers, and it was more satisfying and exhilarating than he remembered. Her arms circled his neck and her fingers twisted into his hair.

"Make me warm," he growled, his voice thick and ragged.

And, she did.


	8. Chapter 8

"I just wanted to tell you that we're leaving, today," Liv said, quietly. The antiseptic smell in the hospital room was giving her a monster of a headache. Rick barely looked at her.

"The vampires are gone," she continued. "Sam and Dean took care of them, if you were worried about that…" She trailed off. They were both silent for several, long seconds. Liv counted to a hundred in her head, and then counted again. Finally, he spoke.

"I knew they would. Bobby says they're the best." The last, he said with a hint of bitterness in his tone.

"They are," Liv said. "They're smart and safe. They look out for each other."

"They looking out for you, too?"

Liv felt tears welling up when she heard the concern in his voice.

"So far, they have been," she said.

Rick nodded. Liv couldn't ignore how thin he had become. Even in the last week, she could tell that his condition had drastically worsened.

Another few minutes passed with no communication between the two. Liv turned toward the door and took a few steps. She tried to be thankful that he had even spoken to her at all.

"You're a good girl, Livvie," her father said, as her fingers made contact with the doorknob. She turned back and could see that he wasn't finished. She waited patiently for him to continue.

"Do something for me, would you?" he said.

Liv nodded.

"Take care of yourself. Be safe. It's a nasty world, believe me, and I worry for you. I tried to keep you away from the ugliness." His voice wavered.

"I could stay," she interrupted. She had even taken a step closer to him, but he held up his hand, stopping her.

"No, you go on. Go home to Georgia, to your mother. Find a nice man, a good man. Live a good life."

Liv opened her mouth to speak but he kept going.

"Don't fall for one of those boys, Livvie. Or any other hunter. It's an ugly life, a brutal life. You're not cut out for it." He laid his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes. He was in pain, she could tell. His facial features were tense and his skin tone was pallid.

"I love you, Daddy," Liv said, softly, but he didn't open his eyes.

There was nothing left for her to do but leave.

* * *

"We gotta get back to Bobby's, pronto," Dean said. He snapped shut his cell phone and tossed it onto the Impala's seat, through the open window. He and Sam were leaning against the car's smooth exterior, watching the hospital door.

"What's up?" Sam asked.

A pretty nursing student in pale, pink scrubs walked by and flashed a bright smile in Dean's direction. He shamelessly returned it until Sam smacked him on the shoulder.

"Ow! What the hell was that for?" Dean demanded, rubbing his arm.

"You can't flirt, anymore," Sam said and shook his head.

"Says who?" Dean asked, grinning up at his brother.

"Well, I'm pretty sure Liv wouldn't be too happy about it."

"Nah, she's not like that. Besides, I was just smiling at the chick. I wasn't gonna hit on her or anything," Dean defended himself.

Dean wasn't exactly sure what he and Liv had become, but it was definitely something. He'd spent the last two nights with her, leaving Sam in their room alone, and he still couldn't believe how easy and natural the transition had been. She always welcomed him, but never made him feel obligated to stay. She was happy to hold his hand when the three of them went out for meals, but never insisted on publicly displaying their somewhat confusing relationship. She would rest her head on his shoulder, or her hand on his knee, with a comfortable affluence that never made him feel awkward or apprehensive, but she only laughed when he smiled at other women. He didn't know exactly what they were, but he knew he liked it.

"Yeah, right," Sam said, rolling his eyes. "So, what's up with Bobby?"

Dean sighed and scratched the side of his head. "It's Cas."

"You mean God?" Sam asked.

"I don't know if I'd go so far as to say that but, yeah. He's been on the news. Performing miracles or some shit like that."

"Miracles?" Sam laughed.

"Yep. Healing the sick, smiting the bad guys, curing the blind. Bona fide miracles, all around."

"What's the plan?" Sam asked.

"Don't know. We'll work it out with Bobby. I don't think we can do anything, to be honest. I mean, how do you fight God?"

Sam shrugged. "Here she comes," he said, as Liv stepped through the automatic, glass doors.

Dean's smile brightened as she approached, and he jumped forward to meet her.

"Did you tell him?" Dean asked her.

"Yeah," she answered, shortly.

"What'd he say?" Sam said.

"Not much," she answered and crawled into the back seat.

"Is he gonna be okay?" Dean asked, as he and Sam lowered themselves into the front seat and he started up the engine.

"No, but there's nothing I can do for him," she said.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked. He had turned back to face her, genuinely concerned. Dean pulled the car out of the hospital parking lot and they were immediately surrounded by farmland, a testament to the town's complete lack of development. He was happy to leave it behind them.

"I'm fine," she said. "I miss my dog. I hope she's okay." Liv chewed on a fingernail and looked out the window, watching as endless rows of corn flashed by.

"Molly's fine. Bobby's been taking good care of her," Sam said, smiling.

"I know," Liv answered, vaguely. Dean watched her in the rearview mirror, hoping to catch her gaze, but she never turned away from the window.


	9. Chapter 9

**Thank you for the new follows! I posted a couple updates in the middle of the whole stats error snafu and for a couple days I thought no one was reading! Reviews are always welcome, even the criticisms. I'd love to hear some outsider thoughts. Thanks!**

* * *

"Do you guys want something to eat?" Liv asked. Bobby, Sam, and Dean were all sitting around the table, not speaking. Liv couldn't tell what was happening; she only knew that Sam wasn't feeling well and that all three were worried about someone named Cas. Not a woman, though. Cas was a man and he was either in trouble, or causing it.

"Hello?" she said, when none of them responded.

Liv had grown accustomed to the general quiet of Bobby's house. It wasn't that they ignored her, but they were all preoccupied with the issue of this Cas person, whom Liv had never met or heard of. Most days, she puttered around the house, tiptoeing around their awkward silences, never quite catching the tone of their conversations. She wasn't offended by the stillness that always followed when she entered a room; she understood privacy and, from previous experiences with her father, knew that she most likely wouldn't want to hear what exactly had them all so concerned.

"What'd you say?" Bobby asked, gruffly. "Sorry."

"I asked if you guys wanted something to eat," she repeated. Bobby watched her approach the table, and scowled when she rested a hand on Dean's shoulder.

"You wanna order a pizza, or something?" Bobby asked. Liv noticed the grimace but didn't remove her hand. Bobby would adjust but, in the meantime, she wasn't going to censor herself. She gave Dean's shoulder a gentle squeeze and smiled when he reached up to take ahold of her hand.

Dean's fingers were warm and dry, calloused from working on his car, and strong from hard labor. Liv had been with musicians and writers, teachers and artists, even a drug dealer in her younger more rebellious years, but never a mechanic and never a man with such strength in his hands. Or his will, she had learned. Dean was a lot of things: strong and sexy, witty and boisterous, but one thing she was slowly adjusting to was his intensity, another was his stubbornness.

"No, I think I saw some steaks in the freezer. I'll fire up the grill and have dinner on the table in an hour," she said. She lightly stepped away from the table, tugged open the freezer door, and started rummaging through its' contents.

"It's venison. Everyone okay with that?" Bobby said, glowering around the table. Sam shrugged, noncommittally. Dean nodded without looking up.

Since no one voiced any aversion to deer meat, Liv pulled them out of the freezer and set the microwave to defrost. She busied herself at the counter, peeling potatoes and carrots, and listened quietly as they finally starting speaking.

"What are we supposed to do?" Sam asked. Liv could sense the hesitation in his voice, but she wasn't sure whether her presence was responsible or his own misgivings. He had been acting strange. He laughed less and had stopped talking, for the most part. He just wasn't the same.

"We can't do anything," Dean answered, shortly. "He's not even Cas, anymore."

"So, you think we should just give up?" Sam said. Liv noticed the subtle rise in the volume of his voice.

"We ain't giving up, you idjits," Bobby nearly shouted. "We're gonna figure this out. All the shit we've been through and you think we should just walk away? Dammit."

Dean filled his glass from the bottle of whiskey in the middle of the table. He leaned back in his seat and rubbed his mouth before taking a long drink. "What the hell do you think we can do?" he asked, laughing. "He's God now. We can't fight God and expect to survive."

Liv stopped peeling and turned toward them. This was quickly turning into the strangest conversation she'd ever overheard.

"Did you just say he's God?" she asked, incredulously.

Again, she was greeted by silence from the table. Eventually, Bobby raised his arm and waved it, dismissively.

"Aww, hell," he said. "You may as well tell her. Now that she's involved with this one, she's bound to find herself in all kinds of shitstorm situations," he said bitterly and nodded toward Dean. He shook his head, indignantly.

It only took a few minutes to explain the precarious circumstances of Cas' ascension into what he deemed the position of an almighty being. Liv had gone back to her carrots; the monotony of the task helped her process the unnerving information without panicking. Purgatory. The King of Hell. Angels. All real and all, apparently, a pretty big chunk of her new boyfriend's life. She knew about vampires, ghosts, and werewolves, but angels and demons? This was new territory for which she wasn't quite equipped.

 _Typical_ , she thought to herself as she diced the potatoes into easily manageable pieces. She'd decided to mash them. Sam and Dean were tight with an angel who had decided he was the new God and she was making steak and potatoes for dinner. The contrast was staggering.

"So, you think this Crowley dude might be able to help?" she asked, when Sam and Dean had finished.

Dean smirked. "I'd love to see his reaction to hearing you call him that," he said. "And yeah, we'll probably have to summon him, soon."

"Will I get to meet him?" she said, her eyebrows perked up questioningly.

"No!" all three of them shouted, at the same time. Liv frowned and dropped the potatoes into a pot, then filled it with tap water and set it on the stovetop.

"Why not? And, what do you mean you're going to summon him? Like, with a spell?"

"You can't meet him because he's crazy and he'd eat you alive," Bobby said.

"I think it's probably best if we keep you from Crowley and Cas, at least as long as we can," Dean added.

"Definitely," Sam said. "Castiel is completely whacked out, at this point."

"Speaking of whacked out," Dean muttered, under his breath. Sam shot him an irritated but resigned look that Liv almost didn't notice.

"Is everything okay?" she asked. "I mean, other than the power-crazed angel that's threatening our very existence?"

"Everything's fine," Sam said. He stared down at the table and spun his glass around with his fingers.

"Yep," Dean said. "Just hunky dory."

Bobby let out a derisive snort and stood up, abruptly. "I'll go start the grill," he said and stomped out, through the back door.

"Okay, then…" Liv shrugged. Things were clearly not fine, but neither of the brothers was talking. She decided to let it go, for the time being.

* * *

"When are you gonna tell me what's going on with Sam?" Liv asked.

It was much later that evening, after midnight, and she and Dean were settling in for the night. She never asked him to stay with her, or even suggested it, but he kept following her into the room that she'd adopted as her own. It was the nicer room, with the double bed and the antique vanity. The room was very obviously hers; it had taken on the same feminine clutter as her motel room, only more extreme.

Molly shuffled in after Dean but shot them a doleful look before slipping out the door and back down the hallway, disappearing into the darkness. Liv knew Molly would make her way to Sam's room and would curl up on his narrow, twin bed beside him. It had become an evening ritual since their first night back at Bobby's when the three of them, Liv, Dean, and Molly, had squeezed onto the double bed together. The following morning, Liv had woken to Dean's snoring and the dog nowhere in sight. She didn't have to look long; Molly had claimed Sam as her new bedmate and he didn't seem to mind.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Dean said. He sat on the edge of the bed and bend down to start unlacing his boots. Liv saw his back tense and knew that he was lying. He ran his palm over his mouth, a gesture that she had come to recognize; he did it when he was upset, or feeling stress. He did it often, she was saddened to realize.

"Yeah, you do. He's weird." Liv delved into her giant suitcase, searching for one of her nicer nightgowns. She was more than happy to share her bed with him, but it did require more attention to her sleepwear. The ragged t-shirt had been retired to the bottom of her closet; it wasn't worthy of his attention, she'd decided.

"He's not weird!" he exclaimed, defensively. "He's just…not feeling well."

Liv snorted. "Dean, that's bullshit. He's straight-up bizarre, these days."

Dean stood up and stalked toward her. There was an aggressiveness in his eyes that almost intimidated her, but she didn't back away. He grabbed her arm, more gently than she expected, and frowned down at her.

"Listen to me, Liv – Sam is fine. Nothing is wrong with him; he just needs a little space. Understand?"

She stared up at him. This was the intensity that she so admired, that attracted her to him, but it also frightened her.

"Alright," she finally said, and was relieved when his expression softened. "I'm just worried."

He drew her into his arms and rested his chin on the top of her head. She was instantly cloaked in his scent; gun powder, motor oil, the Old Spice shaving cream he used every other day, and something she couldn't quite name, something that was inexplicably just _him_. She inhaled deeply and slipped her arms around his waist.

"I know. I'm worried, too. But it's okay; he's okay."

"I won't mention it, again. Just, promise you'll tell me if something happens?" She lifted her chin, to look into his brilliant, green eyes, but he wouldn't look down at her. "Dean?" she prodded.

"I promise to tell you everything you need to know. That's the best I can do, Liv," he answered.

She didn't like the hesitation, or his irritable tone, and she certainly didn't miss the fact that he would be able to choose what she needed to know and what she didn't need to know, which she suspected wouldn't be much, if anything. But she believed that it was the best he could do. He couldn't relinquish control, not of anything, and certainly not when it related to Sam. Sam, who, she knew, was troubled somehow.

"Alright," she said, again, even though it wasn't.


	10. Chapter 10

Liv stood in the kitchen, her head pressed against the heavy cellar door. She was being nosy, she knew it, but something was happening down there, something big. She thought it had to do with Crowley, the King of Hell. Scratch that; she _knew_ it had to do with Crowley.

The door shuddered, startling her, and she jumped back. A bang shortly followed, echoing through the room and into the walls around her which trembled from the force. Dozens of tiny tendrils of white smoke wafted up from the narrow crack beneath the door. Liv wrinkled her nose when the smell of rotten eggs filled her nostrils. It felt like the delicate hairs inside her nasal cavity were slowly being singed away. The wooden door grew hot beneath her palms. She quickly stepped away and tiptoed across the linoleum to the table and pulled out a chair to sit.

Dean had made her swear on his life that she wouldn't come downstairs, no matter what happened so, even when the shouting began, she didn't move from her seat. Crossing one knee over the other and, without even realizing she was doing it, she started tapping her foot, nervously, against the sturdy table leg.

* * *

"Look, you really want _Cas_ running the universe?" Bobby growled, his eyes boring in Crowley's.

"Of course not," Crowley said and took a long swallow from his glass. He'd carried it over with him, along with the bottle, from wherever he'd been holed up. Dean stared longingly at the bottle. A good, robust drink would do them all a bit of good, he thought.

"Then you know this is the only chance we have," Dean said. He could understand Crowley's apprehension. Cas had proven himself to be a cruel and vengeful god. Even the King of Hell wouldn't be immune to his wrath.

"And suppose it is," Crowley grumbled. "Why do you think I would-." Abruptly, he quieted and cocked his head to the side, as if listening closely to something he'd only faintly heard. Dean turned his gaze upward and, in his head, released an impressive string of imaginative curses. He'd heard it too; a soft but steady tapping coming from the kitchen, directly above them.

"What?" Sam said, looking around the basement.

"Someone's upstairs," Crowley said, his eyes narrowed. "But, the three musketeers are all right here. So, pray tell, who could it be?"

"No one," Dean said, almost shouting. "No one you need to worry about."

Crowley smiled, a wicked grin that filled Dean with an overwhelming urge to punch him in the face.

"But I am worried," Crowley said. "Why don't you ask your little friend to come down and say hello. It would be impolite not to."

"No!" Bobby said, his tone flat and expressionless but Dean saw his hands clench into fists and his fingers whiten with the exertion. Dean imagined Bobby was feeling a similar, violent urge to bury his knuckles deep within Crowley's smug, smirking face.

"Yes," Crowley said, shortly. "It's only fair that I know who I'm dealing with. Besides, what can I do from here?" He spread his arms innocently and nodded down at the demon's snare which circled him in bright red paint.

Dean rubbed his hand over his mouth and chin. This was the absolute last thing he'd wanted to happen. He should have sent her away, he realized, but it was too late. Crowley's cooperation seemed to depend entirely on whether or not they let him meet Liv. On a deeper level, he could see why the demon king would be uncomfortable; anyone could be up there – another hunter, an angel, even Cas, for all Crowley knew. But he couldn't think of a single way to assure Crowley that he wasn't in danger of being attacked by a fourth party without revealing Liv's identity.

"Alright, fine," Dean said, after a few seconds of deep thought. "But, you be nice." He pointed at Crowley and glared, threateningly. Crowley only grinned in response.

Dean stomped up the stairs and shoved on the door. It flew open and slammed into the wall beside it. A framed photo was sent to the floor where the glass shattered into a thousand pieces and the wood splintered. Liv jumped and her hand fluttered to her chest.

"Jesus, Dean," she said. "You scared me; are you guys okay?"

She looked so small and fragile, sitting at the table in her floral, silk sundress and bare feet. He was tempted to ask her to change into something more substantial, like one of his garage jumpsuits or a suit of chainmail armor.

"You wanted to meet him, right? Well, here's your chance."

"Really?" she asked. He was unnerved by her excitement. He wanted her to be frightened and uncomfortable, as she should be. He wanted her to understand that he was leading her into the lion's den, and she was only a defenseless, baby gazelle, in danger of being eaten up.

"Yeah. Now, listen to me. Are you listening?" he demanded. She jumped up and hurried over to him.

"I'm listening!" she said.

"Alright, here's how this is gonna go down - You say hello. You tell him your first name, only. You do not try to shake his hand. You do not go anywhere near him. You do not answer any questions he asks you. Got it?" He tried to be stern, to emphasize the importance of his instructions.

"Yes. I got it!" she replied. She was trembling but not with fear, he thought. More like excited anticipation. Adrenaline.

"Okay, let's go. Stay right by me."

Together, they descended the narrow staircase, hands clasped tightly together. Hers was cool and dry; his was clammy and damp. He hadn't realized how terrified he was of having Crowley and Liv in the same room at the same time.

 _He's secure_ , Dean thought to himself. _He's in the snare; he can't get out. She's fine, as long as she does what I say._

Dean looked down at their feet, the part of her body that Crowley would see first. He had failed to tell her to put on shoes. He cursed under his breath. She looked at least as weak as she was, even frailer than a gazelle, more like a baby bird stranded in the middle of a hot sidewalk. No shoes, a short, skimpy dress with thin straps, her hair, wild and free, hanging down to the small of her back; she looked like a well-worn doll that would fall over and shatter at the slightest nudge.

"This is such a huge mistake," he whispered, but it was too late. With each step down, more and more of Crowley's expensive, black suit became visible. When they reached the bottom, Dean finally looked up and saw him, smiling in the most well-mannered, demure way possible.

"Hello there, my dear," Crowley drawled, full of charm and charisma.

"Hello, Mr. Crowley," Liv answered. Dean was relieved to hear her speak to him with esteem, and in the most respectful tone.

"Ahh, so you know who I am. Please, introduce your friend, Dean."

"This is Liv," Dean said, roughly.

"Liv? But, surely that must be a hypocorism?" Crowley asked, turning once again toward her.

"What the hell is that?" Dean demanded.

"A nickname, a shortened version of her given name," Crowley answered, impatiently. "Your brother was truly blessed with the only viable brain in your family, wasn't he? Have you taught him nothing in all these years, Moose?" Crowley directed his attention toward Sam, who remained uneasily silent.

"It is," Liv answered, quietly, when he turned back to her with his eyebrows inclined. "It is a hypocorism; it's actually short for Olivia." She seemed to have finally understood the monumental significance of the situation.

"Ahh, I thought it must be. Would you mind if I called you Olivia, darling?" Crowley asked. His voice exuded charm and allure. "It's such a lovely name, one of my favorites."

"This is the only chance you'll ever have to call her anything," Bobby said, sternly.

Liv ignored him, entirely. "No, of course I don't mind. Thank you," she said. She took a step toward the snare. Dean held tightly to her elbow but she pulled away.

"Stop there, Livvie," Bobby said when she was barely two feet away. As she approached, Crowley bent down to set his glass and the solid bottle on the ground at his feet.

"I'm fine," she said, almost dreamily.

"Liv.." Dean said in a foreboding tone, but she ignored him completely.

She reached out with her right hand, as the demon did the same. Sam and Dean rushed forward but stopped, abruptly, as her hand disappeared into Crowley's. They both held their breath and the basement was silent, as if the room itself anticipated a violently destructive encounter.

Dean watched as Crowley took Liv's hand into his own and raised it, ever so slowly, toward his mouth. The second lasted an eternity but he didn't dare move. He was petrified, certain that the gentlemanly performance would sharply veer off into a more characteristic and vicious attack.

Crowley lowered his head and gently pressed his lips against her hand. He held them there, as Bobby, Sam and Dean watched helplessly. And then, abruptly, it was over and Liv had taken a step backwards. Crowley released her hand and bowed.

"Meeting you has been a true delight, Olivia. You're an exquisite young lady," he said, with his most pleasant and amiable smile.

"You, too, Mr. Crowley," Liv said. She smiled up at Dean as she brushed by and briefly clasped his hand. Dean appreciated the notion, what he took as her way of telling him that she was alright, but hoped that Crowley hadn't caught it. It was a deeply personal gesture and he didn't want Crowley to know how close they'd gotten. He was sure it would make her even more of a target.

They all watched her ascend the staircase, her bare feet padding on the wooden steps. When Dean heard the cellar door snap shut above them, he turned back to Crowley.

"Alright. Ready to talk, now?" he asked. He was angry, but he wasn't sure at whom. Liv, for not listening? Crowley, for forcing him to introduce her? Himself, for creating the situation in the first place? Any combination of the three? It didn't matter – he was mad as hell, regardless.

"Absolutely. Let's talk," Crowley said, with a devious smile in Dean's direction.


	11. Chapter 11

**I'm having a hard time working on current chapters because I have later chapters running around in my head! It's making me crazy! Anyway, I'm happy because I broke 1,000 views. I know that's not a big deal but to me, it seems pretty cool. Hopefully, I can get some reviews and more follows! Thanks, everybody, who is enjoying this story. Things are gonna get wild, pretty soon!**

"How long will you be gone?" she asked as she sat, precariously perched on the edge of the bed, and watched him pack his smaller duffel bag. It was the bag he used for shorter trips, but she didn't know that.

"A few days, maybe a week but probably not that long," he said, and shoved another flannel shirt into the bag.

"That's the sixth flannel shirt you've packed," she said. She picked at the flesh around her fingernails, further damaging her already ruined cuticles. It was her way of dealing with stress, and she did it without even realizing, much like the way he rubbed his mouth and chin when he was upset.

"So, what? I like flannel shirts."

"Okay," she said, and stood. The bed creaked and he finally looked up from his packing.

"Alright, what's wrong?" he asked. He tossed aside the bundle of t-shirts he'd been trying to shove, haphazardly, into the bag and sat down on the bed, in the exact same place she had just vacated.

"Nothing," she said, quietly. He watched her tug open one of the drawers in his bureau and rifle through it until she stepped away with several pairs of his socks in one hand and a heap of boxer shorts in the other. "You'll probably need more than flannel shirts, though."

They were both quiet as she pulled everything out of his bag, one article at a time, and began refolding and rolling them all into smaller, more compact pieces. She was careful and tender as she handled his belongings, treating each garment as if it was a piece of fragile glass. By the time she finished, everything was neatly in its' place.

"Anything else?" she asked. "There's room for more, if you want."

"That should be good," he answered. She nodded and sat down on an old, battered chair in the corner. Dust flew through the air around her as she sank into the cushions. She waved her arms, trying to clear the space, and leaned back. He only watched with a slight smirk. Finally, she looked up at him.

"Do you want me to leave?" she asked. "Should I go back to Georgia?"

His smile disappeared, replaced by an expression of anger and confusion. Even though he had been expecting the question or something similar, it took him a few seconds to form a response but, before he did, he asked a question of his own. "Do you want to leave?"

"That's not fair," she insisted. "You can't answer a question with a question."

"Maybe not but it's just as important." The thought of her going away made his stomach flip, unpleasantly, but he couldn't let himself see it as a bad thing. He had agonized over the decision to make her a part of his life; he'd had to consider, and accept, the danger to her that would come with that decision. Being with her made him happy but he'd never really been able to come to terms with the dread that accompanied his happiness. She wasn't safe with him. But now, after she'd met Crowley, he couldn't be sure that she'd even be safe without him, either.

"It isn't, though. If you want me to leave, then it doesn't matter what I want," she said. She had gone back to picking at her fingernails. He winced as he watched her tear a small scrap of flesh away and a tiny bead of blood appeared. She narrowed her eyes at the wound, as if surprised by it, and popped the tip of her finger into her mouth.

"But, you didn't ask if I want you to leave; you asked if you should leave. And one thing I've learned is that what I want and what should be aren't always the same. They usually aren't, come to think of it." He held his hands out, helplessly.

"Okay," she whispered. "Do you want me to leave?"

He stood up and took the few short steps from the bed to the chair. Kneeling before her, he clasped her hands in his. "No, I don't want you to leave. I want you to stay but I'm worried for you. Crowley knows you're here, and I can't take you with us. I don't want you to leave but I don't want you to be here alone, either."

She reached up and gently rested her hands on each side of his face. He hadn't shaved that morning and the soft flesh of her hands was like satin against the coarseness of his stubble. "Can't you at least tell me what you're doing? I'll be fine here but I don't even know where you're going."

"I can't tell you what we're doing; I think it's safer for you if you don't know."

"But, you just said I might not be safe, anyway."

"Liv, I don't know what to do, anymore. I'm trying, I swear, but I don't know." He leaned back on his heels and ran his fingers through his hair. Her hands dropped into her lap before she wrapped her arms tightly around her stomach. "I don't want you to go back to Georgia, but maybe you should. This has turned into a real shitstorm, just like Bobby said it would." His voice was strained and overwrought with indecision.

Liv dropped to her knees in front of him, and reached up to catch both of his wrists with her hands. Gingerly, she pulled them down so that he could see her face.

"Shh…" she whispered. "You take too much responsibility for things that are beyond your control. I don't want to leave. I want to stay here, with you, and I will, as long as you'll let me. But, you have to trust me."

"I trust you," he said, roughly. "It's everyone else that I don't trust."

She leaned forward and slipped her arms around his neck. His circled her waist and pulled her close.

"You don't have to worry about anyone else, alright? Not for tonight." She pulled him down until their lips met. He felt it, again, that same shock that always hit him when they kissed, first in the stomach, and then throughout the rest of his body. He never got used to that jolt, a sensation somewhere between ecstasy and agony.

As much as he wanted to stay, he had other matters to address, matters that included how he could preserve her safety while he, Sam, and Bobby were out of town. He pulled away slowly, panting slightly from the eagerness that accompanied being so close to her.

"I have to talk to Bobby, before we leave," he said, dolefully.

She pulled him back and slid her right hand down the front of his shirt, until her fingertips dipped beneath the waistband of his jeans.

"You're going to be with him all night. Can't you stay with me, just for a little longer?" she whispered, darting the tip of her tongue along his earlobe.

He groaned in response and reached down to slide his hand beneath the hem of her dress and up the length of her thigh. His skin was soft against the rough, calloused surface of his hand. With tremendous effort, he forced himself to release her and back away, again.

"It's important. We have to figure something out before we leave."

She let out a discontented sigh and pulled the skirt of her dress down. He stood and, easily, lifted her up to her feet.

"Alright, fine," she grumbled. "At least come back to say goodbye?"

He nodded and leaned down to kiss her, a quick peck on the cheek that couldn't allow him to be tempted. As he walked out the door, he smiled when he heard her curse and, after that, something else, a hollow thump that sounded suspiciously like someone kicking the bureau.

* * *

"What are we doing about Liv?" Dean asked.

Sam and Bobby sat around the desk, perusing an old, worn piece of parchment with ancient black lettering written in a foreign language. Bobby looked up, sharply, and glared.

"What the hell do you mean?" Bobby growled. His fingers clenched the parchment until Sam delicately pulled it out of his grasp.

"I mean, is she staying here? Where should she go?"

" _Now_ you're worried about her? She should be in Georgia, dammit!" Bobby shouted.

"Bobby, listen, I know you're pissed but this isn't - "

Dean was silenced when Bobby stood up, knocking his chair to the side where it toppled over, and slammed his hand on the desk, rattling the random knick-knacks, pens, and paper weights strewn across it.

"You're right, I'm pissed! That girl's father is in a hospital, three hundred miles away, breathing his last breaths, alone and in agony. Her mother is in Georgia, wondering where the hell her daughter is. She quit her job, she abandoned all of her friends, and she put her own soul in danger, just to be here with _you_!" He sneered the last word, the disgust crushingly evident on his face.

Dean let him finish, pretending not to be hurt by the derision in Bobby's tone or the implication that Liv was far too good for the likes of him. On the contrary, he completely agreed, but it was painful to hear Bobby voice it, all the same.

"There are a million girls out there just dying to make your bed in the morning, but you had to have her, didn't you? And for what? So you can ditch her in a month? So you can send her packing just when her dad dies? We all know you'll toss her aside when you get tired of her, Dean, just like you always do."

"Bobby, come on…" Sam said, softly, but quickly quieted when Bobby turned his furious glare in Sam's direction.

"Don't even bother sticking up for him, this time, Sam. You know, just as well as I do, that it's all true. Your brother is a womanizing, selfish, self-centered son of a bitch and any woman he gets involved with is doomed, either to live with a broken heart or a broken life," Bobby snarled.

"What do you want me to do?" Dean burst out. "Tell me, what should I do? She's here now and, I'm not gonna lie, I want her here. But on top of that, she wants to be here. So, what do I do? Tell me!"

"Send her home, now, before it goes too far," Bobby said. "It's not too late for her; she can get her job back, she can stay with her mom. It'll be tough on her but at least she'll be alive."

Dean shook his head. "No, I can't do that. I won't do that," he insisted.

Bobby fumed silently, his hands clenching into fists over and over, before he finally reached down and propped up his chair and settled back into it. He stared at Dean, an aggressive intensity burning in his eyes. "Fine," he said. "You're just as bull-headed as your father."

Dean smiled. "Yeah, I guess that's true," he said.

"That's not something to be proud of, Dean. Don't forget how your mother died," Bobby said, sternly. Dean's smile vanished and his jaw set. He didn't need Bobby to remind him of that heart wrenching night; he relived it every evening, in his sleep. "Send her to Jodi's for a few days. I'll call and let her know."

"Wouldn't it be better if they stayed here?" Sam offered. "All the wards are up."

"No," Bobby answered. "Crowley knows about this place, and so does Cas. They go to Jodi's house. We can set up some temporary wards there."

"Is there anyone in the area who can check in on them a couple times a day?" Sam asked.

Bobby thought for a minute. "I guess I can call Garth, but that boy's so dumb he couldn't pour piss out of a boot with the directions written on the heel."

"Garth?" Sam said, snickering. "Have I met him?"

"Nah," Bobby said. "But he'll do for the couple days we'll be gone. He knows how to use his phone, at least, and Jodi's no slouch. She'll keep in touch. Come on, let's get over there and start setting up. We should be on the road by 9 o'clock."

Sam nodded but Dean was still frozen in place, oblivious to Bobby's new plan. He knew that Azazel was long gone, not just exiled back to hell but truly dead, but he still couldn't banish the image of Liv, staked to the ceiling and engulfed in flames, from his mind.


	12. Chapter 12

Things had definitely gotten way out of control. Liv was still mostly clueless about what was happening, but she knew that the Cas situation had been drastically elevated in severity. From what she had heard, Cas was dead, and Dean was despondent.

Sam had officially become a full-time resident of Crazytown, or at least that's the way Dean put it when they finally got back from their trip. They had gone away for two days, returned for another three, and then disappeared again for two more. Liv spent most of that time with Sheriff Mills, or Jodi as she insisted on being called, and it had almost been fun. Liv liked the sheriff; she was funny and easygoing, she didn't mind dog hair on the couch and bedspread, and Liv felt comfortable in her home. Jodi worked odd hours so Liv was alone, a lot of the time, but she didn't mind. It was a calm, quiet house.

When Jodi was around, she taught Liv to can vegetables. It was the time of year for squash and beans and zucchini. It was a good task; it kept them busy and gave Liv something to do while Jodi was working. If she hadn't been so worried, she would have enjoyed herself.

When the three men returned, for the first time, Dean brought her up to their bedroom and tried, poorly, to explain that, as bad as things had gotten, they would soon be much worse. He didn't tell her what they had done, or where they'd gone, but he had told her they'd failed, monumentally. He told her Cas had figured out their plan and that it was over. When Liv asked what was over, he'd said the world and everything in it. She couldn't wrap her brain around the concept. How do you process the information when someone tells you that the world is about to end because of one, rogue angel?

Two days after that, Cas had shown up, unannounced. She had been outside, playing with Molly, when Sam rushed out the door and herded them into her Jeep. He told her she had to go back to Jodi's, right away, and stay there until he or Dean came for her. When Dean showed up, two days later, Cas was dead, Sam was crazy, and something far worse had begun.

Oddly, things had settled down, after that. They were all back at the house, where Bobby frantically researched some species of monster called leviathans, Dean continued drinking whiskey like it was going out of style, and Sam talked to, or yelled at, some invisible being when he thought no one could hear. Mollified, Liv just tried to stay out of everyone's way.

One afternoon, as she sat in an oversized armchair in the den with her feet dangling over one side, she heard Dean trundle into the kitchen after a trip into town for groceries and, most likely, more alcohol. She almost got up to greet him but decided against it when they started talking. Something new had happened, and it sounded messy. Liv set down the book she'd been paging through to listen as they talked it over.

"Stockville, North Kansas. Most of a high school swim team got mangled to death in their locker room," Sam said.

"Cop talk on the wire's kinda garbled," Bobby said. Liv heard shuffling from the kitchen. "Saying it looks like some kind of wild animal attack. They're saying that whatever attacked them was about the size of a linebacker."

Liv glanced over her shoulder and saw Sam hunkered down over his laptop.

"It's a lead, Dean," he said, gingerly.

"Alright, but if you think you're going out on hunt," Dean began, but Sam interrupted.

"No, I know," he said. "But, you are. Look, Bobby's running the hub, I'm fifty-one fiftied, which leaves you to follow this thing up."

"Sam, you're in the middle of a psychotic break," Dean said, irritably.

"It's a couple hours' drive, Dean," Sam said. "And it could be a leviathan thing."

Liv's eyes widened at the mention of the leviathan. She still didn't know much about them but she was intrigued.

"If you think I'm leaving you here alone," Dean said, but stopped when Bobby cut in.

"Hey!" Bobby said. "What am I? Chopped brains on toast? I can eyeball the kid; go. Work off some of these nerves on something useful.

"Fine," Dean said, finally subdued. "But, what about Liv?"

"What about me?" she said, irately, from her chair in the next room. This had been happening since the moment she stepped foot in Singer's Salvage Yard; something would happen, the three men would debate what should be done with her, as if she were the child of a broken home that needed ushering back and forth between families, and then, after they had decided without consulting her, she would be told what to do. She was tired of it.

"Oh, hey, babe. I didn't see you there," Dean said, smiling warily.

"Yeah, whatever. What about me?" she demanded.

"He just means what you should do while he's gone," Sam said, delicately.

"I know what he means," Liv said, her eyes narrowed. "It seems like he's forgotten that I'm an adult and that I don't need to be carted around like a toddler in a stroller. Seems like everybody has, come to think of it. I can decide what I should do, while he's gone."

She jumped out of her chair and tossed her book onto the seat.

"We just want you to be safe, Livvie," Bobby said.

"That's great," she answered. "I'd like to be safe. But, what I don't like is three men dictating where I go and what I do."

"We get that," Sam said. "But, you don't know what's out there. You don't know how dangerous it really is."

"Alright, listen, crazypants – I know that whatever is out there can just as easily be in here. I also know that I'm not gonna go hide under a rock every time you guys get a call and have to leave. I'm twenty-nine years old, for shit's sake, and I've survived most of that on my own! I think I can handle a few more hours," she shouted, chest heaving and out of breath. "Now, I'm going upstairs to take a bath. You go find those leviathingies," she said, pointing at Dean. "You stop trying to be my dad and being pissy all the time," was directed at Bobby. "And you, stop talking to yourself and being a nutjob. It's freaking me out!" she finished, glaring at Sam.

Liv stormed through the kitchen, pausing only briefly to angrily kiss Dean on the cheek, and continued on up the stairs, stomping her feet on each riser. Molly raced up at her heels. All three men stared after them, silently.

"Alright, you heard the woman, I guess I'm going to find some leviathingies," Dean said, and walked out of the room, shaking his head.

* * *

Later that evening, Liv sat at the top of the staircase listening to Sam converse with himself, not making any sense, for over fifteen minutes. She was unnerved by the one-sided conversation and breathed a sigh of relief when Bobby joined him in the kitchen. Sam only spoke that way when he was alone, but she was too frightened to interrupt him. She stood and was headed toward her bedroom when the phone rang. She stopped, expecting it to be Dean, but was pleasantly surprised to hear Bobby address Jodi, instead. By the time she reached the bottom of the staircase, Bobby was gone and Sam was staring into the den, wide-eyed and clearly frightened of something that she couldn't see.

"You okay, Sam?" Liv asked, hesitantly.

"What?" he asked, and jumped at her voice. "Oh, yeah, I'm fine."

"Where's Bobby?"

"He went to the hospital; something about Jodi," he answered. Liv saw his eyes darting around the room.

"Jodi's in the hospital? Is she okay?"

"Yeah, she's fine, though. Bobby'll handle it. Hey, Liv, why don't you take Molly upstairs. I'm... I'm not feeling real great and it's probably better if I'm alone," he said, smiling apologetically.

"Sure," she said, watching him carefully. "Just let me know if you need anything, okay?"

He nodded and waved her up the stairs. She ascended the staircase slowly, remembering that Dean hadn't wanted Sam to be on his own. But, what could she do? Bobby trusted him to be alone, and she wouldn't be able to stop him from anything he wanted to do. Besides, he _wanted_ to be alone; she couldn't argue with that.

He would be fine, she reasoned with herself. He might talk to himself and get a little enthusiastic about it, but he hadn't hurt himself or anyone else. And it was Sam, for Pete's sake. Sam was harmless, unless you were a vampire or a demon. She shot one last glance down the stairs toward the bottom where he stood, smiling up at her. She smiled in return and stepped into her bedroom, gently closing the door behind her.

When she went back down for a glass of water, forty minutes later, he was gone. A note on the table told her he was with Dean but, when she tried, Sam wasn't answering his phone and Dean's went straight to voicemail. Something felt off, but she couldn't quite place it. She took a seat at the kitchen table and settled herself in for the wait.

* * *

Their ride back to the house was so much worse than uncomfortable. Dean struggled not to force Sam into a conversation that might distress him any further. He was broken, perhaps irreparably, and Dean had absolutely no idea what to do.

Sam admitted he wasn't alright, but he insisted he would make it through the evening. They had to get back to the house; they had to meet Bobby and make sure Liv was alright. The whole night had gone to hell and Dean had no idea whether Bobby had any of those black-blooded bastards on his tail. Leviathan in Sioux Falls… the idea made him sick to his stomach.

The unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach deepened, and intensified, when they drove up the dirt road through the salvage yard and saw the blackened, charred remains of Bobby's house.

"Oh, no," Dean said, all thoughts of Sam's most recent breakdown immediately banished from his mind. "Oh, no…" he repeated. A cursory scan of the house revealed the obvious; nothing could still be alive inside.

He and Sam ran in opposite directions; Sam headed into the backyard while Dean, carefully, made his way into the house. He stumbled over ruined pieces of furniture and scattered wreckage. The ceiling had collapsed and the entire structure had been engulfed in flames. The stairs were in a pile on the first floor and, beneath them, he could see into the basement through several gaping holes in the hard wood floor. Everything smoldered, and was hot to the touch. He scalded his fingertips as he sifted through a pile of rubble that had once been the vanity in Liv's and his bedroom. He couldn't see any sign of life, or anything that had once been alive, but he also couldn't make sense of nearly everything he crept by.

"Any sign of them?" Sam asked when they finally reunited outside the house. Dean shook his head.

"That place was torched," he said as they walked through the garage, which had been spared. "Somebody knew what they were doing."

"Do you think Bobby or Liv were back there?" Sam asked.

"I don't know," Dean answered before motioning for Sam to head into the salvage yard. He started in the other direction.

"Bobby?" Sam yelled as he weaved through the wrecked cars.

Dean pulled out his cell phone and pressed three, Bobby's speed dial number. His call went straight to voicemail

Dean cringed and spoke brusquely at the beep. "You cannot be in the crater back there. I can't… If you're gone, I swear, I'm going to strap my beautiful mind brother into the car and I'm going to drive us off the pier. You asked me how I was doing… Well, _not_ good. Now, you said you'd be here. Where are you?"

Afterward, he dialed Liv's phone number. It rang and rang in his ear until, eventually, he gave up and shoved the phone back into his jacket pocket. He refused to entertain the notion that she was dead. She couldn't be dead.

"Bobby!" Sam shouted again from two rows over.

Dean joined the search and, seperately, they wandered the aisles of cars, calling for Bobby and Liv. Their voices echoed through the otherwise silent salvage yard. There was no answer.

Dean was crouched beside a wrecked sedan when he heard a man's voice, a voice that didn't belong to Sam or Bobby. He crept along the side of the car and came out beside the man, a tall, Hispanic, gentleman with dark hair and a scarred face. Dean carried a sawed off shotgun which he pointed at the man's head. He hadn't been seen but the man turned when he snapped shut the twin barrels. Dean pulled the trigger and was splattered with thick, viscous, black liquid. The man barely acknowledged that he'd been hit.

He shuddered and opened an impossibly wide and sharp-toothed mouth before knocking aside the shotgun with one, steady sweep of his arm and, without recovering, grabbed onto Dean's collar and sent him into the windshield of a nearby vehicle. Dean groaned when the surface shattered behind him, sending tiny fragments of safety glass into his back and shoulders. He groaned again when he fell to the ground, fracturing his right leg below the knee.

Sam rushed forward and sent a well-placed punch into the man's jaw. Dean searched the area around him and found a car lift remote. He realized, just in time, that the man was standing directly below an old, large car that had been suspended and left to hang, several feet above the ground.

"Dean, now!" Sam shouted.

Dean pressed the button to release the car but, before he was unceremoniously crushed beneath the several thousand pounds of metal, the man swung a heavy metal pipe, which connected solidly with the side of Sam's head. Sam went down hard and stayed down. Fortunately, so did the still unknown man. Dean watched as gallons of the black goo spread around the crushed remnants of the car.

Satisfied that the man wouldn't be getting up anytime soon, he crawled toward his brother, wincing with each movement of his damaged leg.

"Sam? Sammy? Hey, come on now. Come on, I'm the one with the broken leg; you gotta carry me! Sam?" He cursed, reaching for his cell phone, and dialed 9-1-1.


	13. Chapter 13

Liv sat at Jodi's kitchen table, listening to the faucet drip. She had tightened the knob at least four times but, no matter how much effort she exerted, the damn thing wouldn't stop leaking. She even used a wrench that she'd found in the cabinet below, but it made no difference. Maybe Bobby would fix it, she thought, and put her head down on the table. It was probably the most irritating she had ever been subjected to. But, worrying about the faucet distracted her from worrying about him, and the others. It was impossible to dampen the overwhelming panic that overcame her, though. It was funny how upsetting a leaky faucet could be.

She'd been making coffee when he stormed into the room, demanding to see her cell phone. She didn't have it, though. She had left it in her bedroom, back at his house when he'd gotten home from the hospital and insisted that she go to Jodi's and look after her while she recovered from her surgery. Liv was happy to oblige. Jodi had quickly become one of her closest friends, and she'd been worried when she learned that Jodi was in the hospital, even for something as minor as her appendix.

"Did Dean call here, at all?" Bobby demanded.

"No. Why? What's going on?" Liv was unnerved by Bobby's alarm. She rarely saw him so out of sorts.

"My phone's dead," he said.

She disregarded his response. No way would a dead cell phone cause such distress.

"Bobby, what is it, for real?"

He took a deep breath and sank into a chair by the table.

"The house," he began and Liv was further troubled to see tears forming in his eyes. " _My_ house is destroyed."

"What do you mean?" she asked, cautiously.

"It's burnt to nothing, Livvie. It looks like someone dropped a bomb on it. There's nothing left."

"Oh, no…" Liv said. She rushed to his side and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She knew how great a loss it was; he'd lived there as long as she knew him and even before. His parents had lived in that house; his wife. She said a silent prayer of thanks that she'd brought Molly along, rather than leaving the dog behind as she'd originally planned.

"That's not all," he said, pushing her away and holding her at arm's length. His fingertips dug into her shoulders, almost painfully, but she didn't pull away. She looked at him, into his eyes, and saw the genuine concern and fear lurking within.

"What else did you see?" she whispered. Images whipped through her mind, fully formed pictures of two burnt and unrecognizable bodies. Visions of Dean, buried in charred rubble, broken and bloody. Images of death.

"The Impala…" he said.

"No," Liv said, shaking her head. "No, no, no." The internal slideshow sped up. Dean in the Impala, his body riddled with impossibly wide bites, his eyes, open wide but unseeing. Sam, covered in blood, and unmoving. She couldn't make it stop.

"Now, wait, Liv. It's there; the car is there but it's not burnt. It's parked right by the house but it's not damaged, and the hood was still warm."

"You didn't find them?" she asked, hopefully. She clung to the idea and was finally able to pause the barrage of horrors in her mind. They might not be dead. _He_ might still be alright.

He shook his head.

"They weren't there. One of the cars in the salvage yard that I had up on a lift was dropped. There was some blood. But not much!" he added, hastily, when her eyebrows arched in alarm.

"Where could they be?" she asked.

"I don't know. My phone's dead; yours is probably charred to a crisp, along with all my gear. I got no way of getting in touch with them, dammit."

"What about my scanner?" Jodi asked from the doorway, where she leaned heavily against the frame. She was pale but looked steadier than when Liv had first arrived, which was good, but definitely needed a few more days in bed, which was bad.

Bobby pointed at her and grinned. "Stellar idea, Sheriff. Fire it up."

The scanner sat on the counter, beside a mug tree and the coffee maker. Jodi snapped it on and they all listened as she switched through the channels. Liv walked over and poured herself a cup from the coffee pot; it was hot and the mug warmed her fingers. She added cream and sugar and filled two more mugs for Jodi and Bobby. She barely had time to distribute the mugs and take a seat at the table before Bobby waved his hand at Jodi, signaling her to stop.

"There!" Bobby said when a clear voice filled the room. He leaned closer to the scanner. "Listen."

"Two males," the voice said. "Both late twenties to early thirties, being transported to Sioux Falls General. Unit was dispatched to Singer Salvage. First patient is conscious, possible fractures to lower extremities, uncooperative. Second patient is unconscious with visible head trauma. Be advised, ETA to hospital is approximately eight minutes."

"Uncooperative," Bobby said, and scoffed. "That'll be Dean."

"Of course he's uncooperative," Jodi yelled, weakly. "They're taking them to the exact same hospital you just busted me out of!"

"Ahhh, hell!" Bobby groaned. He grabbed his keys from the counter and headed out the door.

"Wait," Liv yelled. "I'm coming with you!"

"No! You stay here with Jodi. I'll be in touch."

He slammed the door behind him, not giving her any chance to argue. She didn't even have time to get angry. Seconds later, a car engine fired up in the driveway and he was gone, tires squealing on the pavement.

The two women exchanged worried, nervous glances before Liv realized that Jodi looked like she was about to collapse. Hurrying to her side, Liv wrapped an arm around Jodi's waist and guided her through the doorway and toward her bedroom.

"You, lay back down. There's nothing we can do, for now, so you might as well get some rest," Liv instructed.

"Alright, but you come get me as soon as you hear anything, okay?" Jodi said, as she eased back onto her bed. Liv tugged an old, worn quilt up over the woman, and nodded.

"Of course," she said.

"My car keys are in my jacket pocket. It's hanging in the hallway, by the front door," Jodi said, resting her head on the pillow.

"What do I need your keys for?" Liv asked. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Just in case," Jodi said, her eyelids heavy.

"Okay. I won't leave without letting you know."

"Mmkay," Jodi said, absently.

"Yell if you need another pain pill. I'll bring it."

Jodi only nodded; her breathing was already beginning to slow. Liv was temporarily maddened by a brief and sudden tidal wave of jealousy; she wished she could just take a pill and sleep until Bobby got back, hopefully with Sam and Dean. Instead, she made her way back to the kitchen and sat, drinking coffee and listening to the damn, leaking faucet, until light began to seep through the curtains and morning mist crept across the yard around Jodi's house.

* * *

Dean woke slowly, his eyes refusing to adjust to the brightness around him. His head ached, his mouth felt full of cotton, and his right leg seemed to have been encased in a pool of dried cement. But he knew where he was without even having to raise his heavy eyelids; a hospital. He recognized the antiseptic smell.

The first sensation that came to him was utter confusion. Why a hospital? Where? And what the hell happened to his leg?

The next was anger. The goddamn leviathan, that man with the denim jacket and the dark hair, had thrown him into a car windshield. And then the son of a bitch had knocked Sammy out with a lead pipe.

The last thing he felt was satisfaction. The car had crushed the bastard. Dean remembered the satisfying crunch as the leviathan, dressed as a middle class Hispanic gentleman, was obliterated. The blood, or whatever the hell it was, black and viscous, had oozed out from under the sedan in an impossibly wide pool.

After that, after everything else came back to him in a nauseating rush, all he knew was panic. Bobby. Liv. They were gone, and most likely dead. He took a second to center himself, to focus on the present. He even utilized one of Sam's hippy-dippy meditation methods, and counted to five in his head. Then he did what he'd been trained his entire life to do, and put it all behind him, for the moment.

Dean's eyes, still hazy and difficult to focus, settled on the IV that hooked into his left hand. He tugged on it, barely wincing when the needled ripped away from his flesh. The sign on the wall said he was in Sioux Falls General. He'd told the driver not to bring them there, had shouted and threw a fit, but they didn't listen. They never listened. Damn EMTs, always thinking they knew best.

But, he didn't have time to reflect on that little nugget of anger any more than he had time to lose himself in the sorrow and pain of potentially losing Liv, so he flung his legs over the side and stood, intent on finding Sammy and getting the hell out of there. Unfortunately, his leg, the one firmly set in a sea of cement, didn't cooperate, and he quickly found himself ass-down on the cold, tile floor. In that instant, he realized he had nothing on, aside from a flimsy, hospital gown, but he did have a sore tailbone to add to the growing list of aches and pains riddling his body.

He was considering just staying there, just surrendering and offering himself up as a gourmet appetizer, when the door to his room popped open, and a welcome figure stepped in.

"You okay?" Bobby asked, his eyes narrowing as he took in the peculiar scene before him.

"Bobby," Dean said, in disbelief. "You're alive."

"Course, I am," Bobby answered. "Why are you on the floor?"

"They gave me morphine. A lot," Dean answered in a slurred and garbled voice. "Hey look, a monster broke my leg," he added, as Bobby helped him to his unsteady feet.

Bobby scowled and pushed him back onto the bed.

"Wait a minute," Dean said. "The house. We thought you were dead."

"Well, I ain't," Bobby answered, simply. "Not yet. But we gotta run. This place ain't safe." He handed Dean a stack of clothes that Dean recognized, after a second, as his own. "Where's Sam?"

"Uhh… Head scan, I think."

"Meet me at the ambulance dock, stat," Bobby said. "I'll find Sam."

"Wait, where?" Dean asked. His head was still fuzzy and the fluorescent lights in the room were too bright, disorienting him. "Bobby, I'm a gimp!"

Bobby glanced around the room and snatched up a pair of crutches. He hurried over and handed them to Dean, who watched with a startled expression.

"Here," Bobby said, kindly, with a warm smile and a gentle pat on Dean's cheek.

"Bobby, wait!" Dean said, just before the older man disappeared through the door. "Is Liv…?" He found himself unable to finish the question and swallowed a thick lump in his throat.

"She's alright. Get dressed; I'll find Sam. Then, we'll go get Liv," Bobby said, and slipped away.

Dean felt a tightness release in his chest, a vice grip on his heart that he'd been unaware of. Tears of relief and tentative joy sprang to his eyes but he quickly shook his head and refused to let himself celebrate, even a little bit, until Sam was safe and the three of them were out of the monster buffet line.

* * *

"Where are we going?" Dean asked from the front passenger seat of the Impala. The floor was littered with crumpled up fast food wrappers and empty, Styrofoam coffee cups. They'd been on the road over two hours, and his leg was really starting to cramp.

"Rufus' cabin," Bobby said. Behind them, Sam leaned forward and rested his forearms on the seat.

"Rufus has a cabin?" he asked.

"Yeah, up in the mountains. We'll be safe there," Bobby answered.

Dean glanced over his shoulder at Sam, who looked better than he had earlier, at least. They were both tired, both very sore, and both extremely cranky, but they were alive and he was thankful for that. But, he couldn't overlook Sam's odd behavior, which had continued despite their confrontation in the warehouse and had actually intensified.

"Are we almost there?" Dean asked, realizing he sounded like a whiny child and not caring in the slightest.

"Yes, god dammit. We'll be there in a few minutes," Bobby answered, sounding like the weary parent of a pair of crabby toddlers.

"And Liv will be there?" Dean asked.

"What did I say before?" Bobby demanded.

Dean frowned and shifted, uncomfortably, in his seat. "You said she'd be there."

"Yeah, and thank Christ because I'm getting damn tired of listening to your mouth. She can have a turn."

Dean scowled, irritably, imagining that Bobby would be pretty bad-tempered if he had a broken leg, too, but you'd never hear him offer any sympathy to anyone else.

"How long til we get there?" Sam asked, after a few minutes. Dean was pleased to hear his brother sounding just as surly.

"Yeah, my leg is cramping," Dean said, trying unsuccessfully to stretch out his hip and leg in the confining car seat.

"Oh, for sweet Christ's sake, would the two of you just shut up? You act like you've never ridden in a car before."

"My leg hurts," Dean grumbled. "And it's itchy."

"My head hurts," Sam said. "I have a concussion," he added. Dean thought he sounded proud, which was stupid. Everyone knew a broken leg was a bigger deal than a dumb concussion. Dean was pretty sure he got a concussion on practically every hunt. Hell, he probably lived in a permanent state of concussion. Big whoop.

"My leg is broken in two places," Dean said, refusing to be outdone. "It's broken and I can't wear a shoe. I had to cut my favorite jeans."

"If I fall asleep, I could die," Sam interjected.

"Shut up!" Bobby yelled, quieting them both.

The interior of the Impala was peaceful for approximately three minutes before Sam broke the silence and asked, once again, how long it would be before they arrived.


	14. Chapter 14

**Thank you for all the follows and nice reviews! Things are gonna heat up here a little bit so if I need to change the rating, let me know!**

* * *

Something was wrong. She knew it the instant she woke and she woke quickly, which was odd. Normally, Liv woke slowly, lavishing in the warmth of his body beneath the sheets. She woke languidly, snuggling closer to him and wrapping her arms and legs around him. But, that morning, the room was chilly and the sheets were cold. Something was wrong and he was already gone.

The night before, after he'd hobbled up the cabin steps and pulled her tightly against him, had been surreal. After they'd reassured each other that they were both alright, they had gone inside, arm in arm, and settled onto the couch. Liv doted after him, worrying over his leg and head, which was cut but not badly. He told her, over and over, that he was completely fine, as Bobby and Sam smirked from the kitchen table. Liv wasn't comforted. The cast was enormous and he admitted, somewhat reluctantly, that his leg was broken in several places. Molly, who had never really warmed up to Dean after he stole her place in Liv's bed, sat by Sam's leg with her head on his shoe.

After two, endless hours of discussion, of going over the events of the previous night, Liv was finally able to steal Dean away to one of the small, dusty bedrooms. She had changed the sheets in all three rooms, and had tidied them as best she could, but the entire cabin was a lost cause. As soon as the door shut behind them, she flung herself at him.

The bed was old and filled with rusted, creaking springs that protested their dual weight but Liv ignored them. She also cast aside the mortifying realization that Sam and Bobby would hear every move they made.

They were clumsy, at first. Every few moments, Dean would cry out in pain as he leaned too far onto his bad leg, or twisted his hip into an awkward angle. Liv tried to kiss and caress away his pain but, when every movement became excruciating for him, she simply rolled him over onto his back and straddled his waist. Waves of pleasure washed over her, waves as strong and regular as the incoming tide, and he was the moon, bringing them in.

He sat up, abruptly, and wrapped his arms around her waist, guiding her movements, steadying her rhythm. She lowered her head to kiss him as the tide finally came in and overwhelmed her. Without thinking, without even being aware, she whispered softly that she loved him. As soon as the words were spoken, she regretted them. Not because they weren't true, but because it was too soon. She felt him tense beneath her, but couldn't be sure if he was angered by her declaration or because his own tidal wave was crashing down around him. She hadn't expected him to reciprocate, but couldn't help feeling sad when he said nothing.

Afterward, with his head nestled between her breasts and both of their bodies' glossed over with a fine sheen of sweat, he remained silent. The rough, heavy plaster of his cast chafed her thigh but she didn't move away. His breathing slowed and grew steady as she twirled his short locks through her fingers and, eventually, she drifted off as well.

But, the next morning, he was gone and the bed was cold.

* * *

His clothes were still balled up on the dirty, wooden floor. She decided she'd mop, as soon as someone took her to the nearest store. She doubted Rufus would have left much in the way of cleaning supplies and, if he had, he sure hadn't been using them. She picked up his shirt and jeans and folded them, then tossed them onto the bed.

Pulling on a pair of old sweatpants and one of Dean's flannel shirts, she stepped out of the room. The floor was ice cold against her bare feet. The kitchen and sitting room were empty and still dark; the sun was just barely up and the cabin was surrounded by trees that blocked the little bit of light that was only then beginning to fill the sky.

"Hello?" Liv said, carefully. No one answered, but she saw that the front door was cracked. She crept toward it and pushed it open, poking her head through. "Oh, hey," she said when she saw Dean sitting on the porch swing, wrapped in an enormous, old quilt.

"Hey," he answered.

"What are you doing out here? It's freezing," she said. He opened the blanket and gestured for her to join him on the swing. He was wearing a t-shirt and a pair of Sam's flannel, pajama pants, split up one leg so that there was room for his cast. She slipped in next to him and he pulled the quilt closed, his arm circling stiffly around her shoulder. Her body felt warmer but, inside, she was still chilled and the feeling that something was wrong intensified.

"Where are they?" she asked when he didn't answer her first question. Her Jeep sat alone, parked by a large, evergreen tree. The Impala was gone.

"Town. They went to the store," he said. With his good leg, he pushed against the railing in front of them so that the swing began to rock, slowly.

"Oh, damn. I would have gone. This place is filthy; I hope they get some Pledge or something so I can start cleaning up." She rested her head on his shoulder, wishing his body would relax.

"I don't think that's gonna happen, Liv," he said. The swing moved more quickly.

"Something against Pledge?" she asked. "Everything in this place is wood."

"I mean, you won't be cleaning the cabin," he said, patiently.

Liv was careful with her next words, understanding the gravity of the situation.

"I don't mind cleaning," she said.

He moved away from her, only the slightest bit, but she noticed and pulled back. The quilt fell away from her shoulder and she shivered as the frigid, morning air accosted her skin through the flannel of his shirt. The sun still hadn't reached the porch.

"I think it's about time this ended," he said. The porch swing stopped moving, abruptly.

Liv's breath caught in her throat. "This? What do you mean, 'this'?" she asked, quietly.

"This," he said, motioning from himself to her. "Whatever this is, between us."

"Dean…" she began. "If this is about what I said last night, it was a mistake. I just got caught up in the moment, I guess and…" She was rambling and she knew it but, thankfully, he stopped her.

"It's not about that. I hope it wasn't true, for your sake, but it's not about that," he said. Liv realized he still hadn't looked at her.

"Then what? Why do you think it should stop? This doesn't make sense."

"It's not just that I think it should stop," he said harshly. "I _want_ it to stop."

Liv's face twisted into a grimace of pain and confusion and he finally looked at her, into her eyes.

"I _want_ you to leave," he said, coldly.

"Oh," Liv said, her voice barely a whisper. "I guess that makes sense."

He nodded and turned away again. The swing started slowly rocking back and forth, again. Liv stood, hastily, and her side of the quilt dropped to the porch floor. Dean bent over, wincing, and pulled the blanket back up and around himself.

"I guess I'll get my stuff," she said, her lower lip trembling. But, she refused to cry, especially not in front of him.

"That's a good idea," he answered, and leaned back into the swing. Liv turned away and hurried into the cabin. The screen door slammed behind her.

* * *

He cringed as the door crashed shut, the loud bang echoing through the trees like a gunshot. Under the blanket, his hands trembled and deep, crescent shaped craters were embedded into his palms from his fingernails. He'd forced them into tight, brutal fists to keep from punching the railing, the wooden pillar, the wall behind him, anything in his reach. He had controlled himself, which he considered a victory, and she hadn't seen his shaking hands or heard the catch in his voice, which was even more so. He thought he'd done a pretty good job of convincing her.

The air around him felt colder than before, even though the sun was starting to break through the trees. The quilt was worthless, especially the half that she'd been bundled into. It was still warm from her body heat but he felt undeserving and let it fall. Thankfully, Sam and Bobby pulled up a few minutes later. Dean forced a smile and stood, clumsily.

"I hope you bastards brought me some new clothes," he called, and swallowed the lump in his throat. "All I have is one pair of jeans and a shirt." Two shirts, he thought, remembering the flannel Liv had been wearing.

"Yeah, I found you some black skinny jeans and one of those mesh, fishnet tank tops," Sam shouted, grinning.

"Fuck you, man," Dean growled and followed them inside. He could hear Liv in the bedroom, packing her few things. Molly was spread out on the couch, grinning dopily at Sam, who walked over to scratch her belly.

Bobby shuffled around the kitchen, loading the refrigerator and cabinets with food and beer while Sam started pulling out pots and pans and stacking them in the sink.

"Hey, maybe Liv'll make us some breakfast," Sam called. He started scrubbing the pans, which were all coated in a thick layer of grimy grease. "We got eggs and bacon, sausage, oatmeal, all kinds of crap."

"I don't think so, Sam," Liv said. She had stepped out of the bedroom, dressed in a pair of worn jeans and an oversized sweater, carrying her duffel bag over one shoulder. Molly's leash and her car keys were in one hand.

Sam and Bobby didn't speak when Liv called for the dog and fastened the leash to her pale, pink collar. They didn't speak when she stepped toward the door and slipped on her worn moccasins, which had replaced her old sandals when the weather began to cool.

Dean leaned back on the couch, refusing to look up at all. He couldn't stand to see the way Sam's mouth dropped open in surprise, or the angry confusion in Bobby's eyes.

"What's going on?" Bobby asked, his voice edged with concern.

"Nothing, Bobby," Liv answered. "It's just time I… you know, head on down the road," she finished, lamely, pointing at the door.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked. He dropped the dish sponge he'd been holding and walked over to her. Dean started at the black television screen, wishing he'd gone into one of the vacant bedrooms.

"I'm gonna go home," Liv answered, brightly. Dean could hear the pain beneath the fake, airy, cheerfulness and was sure that Sam and Bobby would, too.

"Why? We just got here," Sam said. Dean looked up, for a second, and saw Sam place his hand on her shoulder. She pulled away, smiling awkwardly, and reached for the door.

"I miss my family," she said, simply. "I want to check in on my dad. It's just time."

"Listen, Livvie, I'm not sure it's such a good idea for you to leave," Bobby said.

"Jesus, guys, she wants to leave, let her leave," Dean burst out. He could hear the tension in her voice, and could sense how badly she just wanted to be away from their questions.

Bobby shot him a dark, murderous look and walked over to hold the door open for Liv. "I'll walk you out, then," he said.

Liv nodded and followed him through the open door. Dean listened to Bobby's heavy footsteps as they plodded across the porch and down the stairs. Liv's made no sound in her soft, leather slippers.

"Okay. What happened?" Sam asked. He sat down in a chair across from the couch.

Dean shook his head. "I don't know what you mean."

"Don't be a dick, Dean. You know what I'm talking about. Why is she leaving?" Sam demanded.

"It's just time," Dean answered. "Like she said."

"That's not a real answer and you know it."

Dean didn't say anything for a few minutes. He listened to Bobby and Liv talking outside, though he couldn't understand their words no matter how hard he focused.

"Dean," Sam prodded.

"She told me she loved me, Sammy," he finally answered.

"Whoa," Sam said. "That's pretty heavy stuff."

Dean just nodded.

"So, let me guess – she says she loves you, you don't answer, she gets mad and breaks up with you?"

"Not exactly," Dean said, his voice low and wounded.

"Then what?" Sam asked.

"I don't know. I just didn't know what to say."

Sam sighed. "Don't feel guilty for not loving someone, Dean. It's not your fault."

Dean's eyes blazed and he leaned forward, ignoring the pain in his leg.

"What if I _do_ love her? What if I love her so much that I can't let her be around me anymore? Do you have any idea what would have happened if Bobby hadn't taken her to Jodi's? Do you know what that black-blooded monster would have done to her?" Dean chest heaved and he buried his face in his hands, overwhelmed by the same panic he'd felt in the hospital, when he'd first been confronted with the idea that she might be dead.

Sam was briefly silenced by Dean's sudden outburst.

"I know," he said, humbly, when Dean looked up. "They would have killed her."

"Exactly," Dean said. "Just like Bobby told me. I can't let that happen. You and I both know they'll be back. And, if not them, something else. She'll never be safe with me, Sammy. Never." He slumped back against the couch and ran his right hand across his mouth and chin.

Sam only nodded when Dean finished, agreeing.

Outside, one of the Jeep's doors slammed shut and the engine started with a loud, rumble. Dean cursed, wishing he'd taken the time to look under the hood before she left. Georgia was a long way off and he hoped Bobby reminded her to take it into a shop. They'd charge her out the ass but at least she'd be safe. He cut off the thoughts, sharply. They wouldn't help anyone.

"Are you sure this is what you want?"

Dean shook his head. "No. But that doesn't matter. She can't stay here. How many close calls do we have to go through before it gets a little too close and she gets hurt?" He shook his head again, more aggressively.

"Alright, if you say so," Sam said, standing. "I'm gonna go say goodbye before she leaves."

Dean watched him hurry toward the door and heard him descend the porch steps. Sam called Liv's name and Dean heard the car door open again. Turning his head, he could see through the front window as Sam and Liv came together and embraced. Sam lifted her up so that her feet hung several inches off the ground. When he set her down, she crawled back into the front seat as Sam reached through and gave Molly's head a good, vigorous rub.

Dean couldn't hear them but he saw their lips moving and Liv nod. He watched, wishing he could go out and tell her the truth or, at least, give her a hug of his own. He forced himself to look away as the Jeep began moving, rocks churning beneath its' tires. When he let himself look up, she was gone and only Sam and Bobby were left, frowning at each other in the unpaved driveway.


	15. Chapter 15

**Hello, everyone! I hope you're all doing well and still enjoying the chapters. I love reviews, good and bad, so please feel free to leave a comment!**

 **Regarding the next few chapters, I've rearranged one of the episodes. As you all know (SPOILER), Bobby dies in episode 10 and (SPOILER, AGAIN) Dean fathers an Amazonian daughter in episode 13. However, for the purposes of this story and helping everything make sense, I've moved episode 13 so that it occurs earlier in the season, probably soon after episode 6, where the god Osiris shows up. This would mean Bobby is still alive and Dean has just recently sent Liv away. Other than that, I don't believe anything happens in episode 13 that is chronologically imperative to the season but, if it does and messes with the official timeline, I apologize!**

"You doing okay, Dean?" Sam asked from his spot on the bed where he sat, watching his brother pace around the tiny motel room.

Dean didn't answer at first; he just kept circling the room with a exaggerated scowl on his overwrought face. It had been a tumultuous few weeks, for both of them, and he didn't know how to answer. His leg still ached dreadfully but it was nothing compared to his internal distress. He had lied to his brother about Amy, and that weighed on him heavier than he'd expected it to. The entire state of affairs with Osiris had thrown him for a loop; being found guilty of _feeling_ guilty was difficult enough to understand, on its' own, but then to have Jo thrown at him made the whole thing nearly unbearable. He was angry that she had been dragged down, hopefully from heaven, and made to nearly kill him. She didn't deserve what happened, even if he did.

Dean had to admit that it was an overwhelming relief when Sam learned the truth about Amy, and he did appreciate Sam's initiative with his Amazonian offspring. That particular endeavor still messed with his head. He never really considered Emma his daughter, especially after she tried to kill him; he knew she was probably 95% her mother and only 5% him, if even that, but it was still doing a number on his conscience. Biologically, he'd had a daughter and she had died by Sam's hand; it was a lot to wrap his brain around, and even more upsetting when he couldn't find, and punish, the responsible individuals. The Amazon women had vanished and he and Sam couldn't even track down the beginnings of a trail to follow.

The chaos had one positive effect, though; he hadn't had much time to think of Liv. He missed her, more than he'd thought possible. A month had gone by without any contact between them and it felt like something irreplaceable had been stolen from him. He kept reminding himself that he'd been through it before, with Lisa but it brought him no real comfort. Somehow, he had convinced himself that once she was gone, once all traces of her presence had been erased from his life, he'd be able to move on and forget about their short-lived tryst. He couldn't have been more wrong. He missed her and he couldn't forget, no matter how many distractions were tossed his way.

"Dean?" Sam said, again, when Dean remained silent.

Dean's head snapped up and he suddenly stopped, in the middle of a step.

"What?" he growled.

Sam sighed and leaned forward to tie his shoes. "I asked if you were okay."

"I'm fine. Why?" Dean's face twisted into an irritated and incredulous visage.

"Because you're wearing a path into the carpet, for starters."

"What?" Dean demanded, again, and shook his head. "I'm fine. I just have a lot on my mind, that's all."

"I know. Just thought I'd check," Sam said.

"Thanks," Dean answered, shortly. "Listen, I'm gonna go out, get a drink, maybe a burger. You coming?" He pulled on his blue suit jacket and slipped his wallet into the inner pocket.

"Nah, I think I'm gonna hang out here. See if I can dig anything else up on our newest vic," Sam answered and stepped over to the small table in the kitchen area, where his laptop was already hooked up. He had dug up another case, this one looked like a coven of female amateur witches, taking out their ex-boyfriends and cheating husbands. It was simple stuff, uncomplicated and easy to weed out, but still deserving of their attention.

"Alright, call me if you find anything."

Sam nodded and looked up just as Dean was stepping through the door.

"Hey, why don't you stop by the bar the dead guy's friend mentioned? See if you find anything weird."

Dean nodded. "What's the name of the place, again?" he asked.

Sam rifled through a short stack of papers on the table. "Looks like it's called The Broken Padlock. Not far from here."

"Gotcha. I'll be back later."

* * *

"Hey, handsome. Wanna buy me a drink?" The pretty, thin brunette had been making eyes at him for the past twenty minutes, batting her eyelashes and twirling a little, pink straw around her tongue. She was cute, with a shiny bobbed haircut and bright, blue eyes. In her four inch, hooker red stilettos that perfectly matched her short, lace dress and long, manicured fingernails, she was nearly as tall as him.

He was usually a sucker for bold women but this time, he couldn't get into the role. Maybe it was his most recent disaster of a hook-up, but he thought it had more to do with Liv. Still, she seemed pretty comfortable with the place and he decided it couldn't hurt to try and pull some information.

"Sure. What's your poison?" he asked. Even to himself, his voice sounded flat and indifferent.

She sidled onto the stool, right next to his own. Her thigh pressed against his as she adjusted into her seat and pulled up the hem of her dress to cross her legs. As she got closer, his eyes began to sting from the copious and unrelenting perfume waves that wafted off of her. She must have bathed in it, he thought, cringing.

"I'll have a cosmopolitan, extra sugar on the rim," she whispered in a baby soft voice. Dean almost rolled his eyes at her blatant flirtatious performance. She might as well have have a price tag attached to her collar.

He waved for the bartender and placed the order, adding another beer for himself onto his tab. The girl wrinkled her nose as he took a long drink from the bottle.

"Beer is such a poor man's drink," she said, in that same sing-song voice.

"Oh, yeah?" he said, and took another drink.

She nodded and suggestively licked the rim of her glass. "It's so cheap and smelly. I mean, why even come to a nice place like this just to drink beer. It's just so common. My last boyfriend didn't drink anything but gin."

Dean couldn't control himself but, thankfully, was able to look away before rolling his eyes skyward and shaking his head.

"People have been drinking beer for hundreds of years. Kings drank beer but I guess they called it mead or ale."

The girl seemed to ignore him; she was busy scanning the room.

"You expecting someone?" he asked.

She turned her gaze back to him and smiled. "Just my sister and her friend. They were supposed to meet me here almost an hour ago." Her smile transformed into a pout; her lips looked like a perky bow that he normally would have found irresistible.

"Maybe you should call her," he said, nudging his cell phone which sat on the table next to his beer.

The girl shook her head and reached over to slide her fingertip along the length of his wrist. "You'll keep me company until they show up, won't you?"

"Sure, I can do that. My name's Dean, by the way." He took another drink of his beer, ignoring the way her button nose crinkled.

"I'm Tiffany," she said and leaned against him. Her perfume assaulted his nose.

"Of course, it is," he muttered, under his breath.

"Did you say something, Dean?" she asked.

He didn't like the way his name sounded in her voice, sticky and sweet like the cosmopolitan she was sipping.

"Nothing important, darlin'," he answered and turned back to his bottle.

Half an hour later, her friends still hadn't shown up and Dean was sincerely regretting his decision to invite her to join him. She'd had another cosmo, a lemon drop, and was working her way through a glass of extremely expensive champagne.

It only took a few minutes in her company to know, without a doubt, that she wasn't involved with the coven and didn't know anything about it. She was young and fresh and, quite honestly, the most vapid human being to ever cross his path.

Dean had finished his beer and was debating ordering something stronger when her tiny, red purse began to vibrate across the table and Mariah Carey's 'Vision of Love' started echoing in his ears. He was just asking her what she did for a living, expecting the answer to be absolutely nothing, but she silenced him with one, index finger which she held up less than an inch from his face. She reached into the bag and pulled out a thin, pink cell phone that had been covered with tiny, round crystals.

"This is Tiff," she breathed into the phone and flashed him a coquettish smile that only made him want to get up and walk away. Instead, he smiled back, trying to look genuine, and waited for her to finish her call.

"You're not coming?" she squealed into the phone. Dean noticed that she had tiny flecks of red lipstick on her front teeth.

The girl scowled and Dean was reminded of an angry two year old who had just been told no for the first time.

"I've been waiting forever. Why didn't you call earlier? And how am I supposed to get home?" Her baby voice had become shrill and nasally.

Dean looked around the room; it was much quieter than when he'd first arrived. There were only a few couples left at the bar, one group of four at a table, and two lonely individuals.

"Stacey, it's after eleven. I am _not_ taking a cab," the girl named Tiffany whined into her phone. "You'll have to come get me."

He almost laughed at the way her eyes popped open, like a comic book character.

"You can't say no, it's your fault I'm even at this crappy bar, anyway! I told you we shouldn't come here anymore; it's always full of losers."

Deciding, abruptly, that he'd had enough, Dean dropped his bottle onto the table and was pulling his wallet from his jacket pocket when the girl shoved the phone back into her purse, huffing petulantly.

"Hey, wait a second," she cooed, replacing her irritated expression with a charismatic smirk. "You don't mind giving me a ride home, do you?"

Dean sighed and pulled a few bills from his wallet, which she eyed, with interest. He dropped them on the table and stood, slowly.

"No, I guess not. Are you ready?"

She practically poured the rest of the champagne down her throat before following him through the dwindling crowd.

" _This_ is your car?" she asked, doubtfully. They had just approached the Impala and he was unlocking the passenger side door for her.

"Yep, this is my baby," he answered, proudly.

The girl frowned and looked around the parking lot. "But it's so old," she complained.

Dean's head whipped around, angrily. "This is a classic!" he asserted.

She crawled into the seat and wrinkled her nose, fidgeting on the leather. "It looks like something my grandfather would drive," she muttered, contentiously.

Dean was briefly flabbergasted. No one had ever insulted his car before. After a few seconds of internal debate, he decided it wouldn't be appropriate to throw her out of the car and onto her ass in the parking lot. Instead, he got into the driver's seat and started the engine.

She said something that he couldn't quite make out.

"What?" he said, impatiently.

"I said it's so loud!" she shouted.

"It's great, right?" he said, grinning.

"My last boyfriend drove a Lexus," she said, plainly.

"Alright, where do you live?" he demanded, ignoring her previous statement and praying it would be a short drive. He was greatly disappointed.

It took twenty minutes to reach her house. He tried making small talk but she wasn't very perceptive. She reached for the radio tuner and found a station favoring young, squeally sounding singers with indeterminable genders. When a slow, whiney song came on, she scooted closer to him and placed her palm on his knee.

"Do you want to come inside?" she whispered, playfully, as he pulled into her driveway. He was confused by her audaciousness, convinced that his car and preference for beer had turned her off of him completely.

"I'm not sure," he said. He didn't want to, not really, but he knew that his only other option was returning to the motel, where Sam would surely be asleep and he would be alone with his thoughts.

"Oh, come on," she said, tickling his jawline with a crimson fingernail. "At least take me inside. Have some coffee. Normally, my sister would be there but she's still with her friend. I hate going into a dark house, all by myself."

Dean nodded and slowly got out of the car. He wasn't tired, and he loathed the idea of lying awake in bed, thinking of everything he'd been trying to forget. At least this way, he wouldn't be alone.

She was drunk, he realized when it took her a full two minutes to get her front door unlocked. She giggled and stumbled over the threshold when he finally took the key from her hand and guided it into the lock. He was struck by a brief but strong wave of deja vu, remembering that night with Liv, after he'd beaten her and Sam at pool. It passed quickly and, when the girl pressed her lips against his, he didn't stop her.

They kissed all the way to her bedroom, all pretenses of coffee forgotten. He imagined her room would be pink and ruffly, like a child's, but it wasn't. Everything was red – the curtains, the bedspread, the carpet. The furniture was a deep, chocolate brown wood. The room smelled like her perfume and hairspray, artificial smells that stung his nasal cavity.

She slammed the door shut behind them and immediately dropped to her knees in front of him, fumbling with his belt. It felt wrong, the way her tongue trailed over his lower stomach. He looked down and saw the heartshaped outline of her lips on his skin, perfect replications of her mouth left behind with her lipstick. Before he could voice his hesitation, she shoved him back onto the bed and crawled on top of him. She was much lighter than Liv, bonier and less inviting. He didn't like the way the bones of her ass dug into his thighs. When she slid the lace dress up and over her head, he could see her ribs outlined beneath her skin, both below and between her petite breasts.

In the midst of his scrutiny, he forced himself to stop. She was a beautiful girl. She wasn't in love with him. He could leave afterward and forget it all happened. He didn't want to spend the rest of his life with her and he didn't have to. He didn't need to worry about her safety or plan for their future. She was there, for the night, and he would be gone in the morning. No strings, no attachments. He had to live in the moment. He didn't have to strive for true happiness; it would probably always evade him. She wasn't Liv, but no one ever would be. And, that would be his life, forever.

It was easier, after that. He was able to almost enjoy himself.

* * *

Three hours later, when he stepped through her front door, he felt much better. The air was crisp and cold; he could smell someone's woodstove burning, a smell he'd loved since childhood. It reminded him of their home in Kansas, and times when his mother was still alive

The leather seat was cold when he slid into it. His fingertips brushed against something hard and, when he looked down, he saw his cell phone sitting on the seat, where he must have left it when they went inside. Snapping it open, he saw eighteen missed calls, twelve from Sam and six from Bobby. He had eight text messages and eleven voicemail messages. His eyebrows furrowed together; Sam never called repeatedly unless something terrible had happened. Bobby was the same.

He was just checking the first voicemail when another call came in, from Sam. Dean answered on the first ring.

"Hey, Sammy, it's me. What's going on? You guys are blowing up my phone. Somebody die or –."

Sam cut him off. "Dean. Get back here, now."

Dean chuckled and started up the car.

"Alright, alright. I'm on my way. Are you gonna fill me in or what?" He shifted into reverse and started backing out of Tiffany's driveway but, at Sam's next words, he stopped short.

"It's Liv, Dean. She's in trouble. Big trouble. We have to get back to Sioux Falls."


	16. Chapter 16

**Sorry for the delay in this chapter. Kinda got a little bit of writer's block. I hope people are still reading. :/ I'll keep writing for the fun of it, either way!**

* * *

"Alright, tell us again. From the beginning," Dean said, harshly. He was exhausted from driving all night and anyone could see it on his face; it was worn and drawn and his eyes were tired and bloodshot. He sat on Jodi Mills' couch in her living room, leaning forward, with his hands clasped together and his elbows on his knees.

Across the room, Jodi rolled her eyes and let out a heavy sigh but, resigned to the inevitable, began her story for the fourth time.

"I was patrolling the outskirts of town, where I'd been assigned for the night. I heard a call on my radio about a potentially dangerous dog on the loose. When they described the animal, I knew right away it was Molly, so I told them not to worry about animal control because I could handle her."

The three men nodded. Each wore an expression of attentive concern. Bobby motioned for her to continue.

"Dispatch told me that the dog was about a mile from your place so I headed that way. I didn't see her on the road but I figured, what the hell, maybe she went back to your house so I turned onto your driveway."

"Did it look like anybody had been there, recently? Any tracks or anything?" Dean interrupted, but Bobby silenced him.

"Let her finish; save your questions for after." Bobby sat on the opposite end of the couch, in a similar position. The only difference in their posture was that he rested one hand on Molly's haunch. The dog was in rough shape, but Dean knew she would pull through. She was malnourished; her bones stuck out painfully in several places. She had numerous wounds on her legs, especially the back two, that had been treated and covered with little, white bandages. Her front, right leg was broken and had been set and casted by a local vet that Jodi knew.

"Anyway, I was right. I found her curled up on what's left of your porch. She was shivering and covered with blood. She growled at me, at first, but when I started talking, she tried to walk toward me. She couldn't, obviously. She was favoring that leg and the others were so weak that she just went down. I knew something was really wrong, right away. I knew Liv would never leave Molly in that shape. She just kept trying to get to me, crying, so I picked her up and put her in my car with the heat on. I figured she'd be safe there so I decided to look around."

"And that's when you found the jeep?" Dean demanded.

"Dean! You keep making her tell the story because you always interrupt her! Let her finish, dammit!" Bobby shouted. They were all jumpy and on edge from no sleep and stress. Dean scowled but didn't say a word in response. On the couch, nestled between the two of them, Molly whimpered and tried to pull her legs closer into her body.

Sam stood and walked over to them. He had been sitting on Jodi's piano bench but settled himself onto the floor in front of the dog, instead. He reached back, whispering soothing words to her, and stroked her back. Molly licked his hand and grew still and quiet, once again.

"I found her car back behind the biggest garage. The door was hanging open but the dome light wasn't on. I guess the battery had died. I saw a shoe on the ground, one of her sandals, I think. I called for her but I knew there wasn't anybody there. It was too quiet. So, I went around and looked inside. I saw her purse on the seat and her keys in the ignition. It didn't look like anything had been messed with. That's when I saw the blood." Jodi frowned and looked down at the floor.

Dean paled, as he had each previous time hearing the story.

"It was on the steering wheel, on the inside door handle on the driver's side, on the dashboard. Not a huge amount," she added, hastily. "But enough to know it wasn't a paper cut. That's when I called Bobby."

"And I headed down there, right away," Bobby added, finishing the story. "I called you two on the way, figured you'd wanna get on the road. What the hell took you so long, anyway?"

Dean shook his head, not wanting to go over his indiscretions the previous night. He felt bad enough and Sam had railed him for it the entire drive back to Sioux Falls. The worst part was, he couldn't think of a single thing he'd actually done wrong.

"Did you see the Jeep?" Sam asked Bobby, ignoring his question. He rubbed Molly's forehead with his thumb; a combination of his presence on top of the pain medication prescribed by the vet had finally lulled her to sleep.

"Yeah, I did. It was just like Jodi said. Blood everywhere, nothing stolen. I even found her cell phone on the floor of the back seat." Bobby scowled and pulled the phone out of his pocket. The screen was shattered and a few dried flecks of blood where painted across the surface.

"Did she make any calls, recently?" Dean asked. He reached for the phone and Bobby handed it over.

"I can't get it to turn on. I don't know if it's the battery or if the whole thing's shot to hell."

Dean passed the phone to Sam, who popped off the back cover.

"I'll check it out. I might be able to find out if it's salvageable," he said.

"Guys, I gotta be honest, I really think we should be calling the police," Jodi said. "I mean, the rest of the police. Not just me."

Dean shook his head and ran his hand across his mouth. "It's gotta be a leviathan thing and they've got the police in their back pockets." He stood and stalked across the room. When he reached the piano, he stopped and leaned against it. "We've got to figure this out, on our own."

"I don't know, Dean," Sam said. "Maybe she's right about this. If the leviathan haven't gotten to the cops, they could definitely help. Besides, why would they take her? Wouldn't they just… you know, copy her?"

"No," Bobby interrupted. "Dean's right. They're in the hospital; I'm sure the police station was next. Jodi, you notice anything weird about your coworkers, lately?"

Jodi shrugged. "Not really. Well…" She paused. "Now that you mention it, things have gotten pretty lax around the station."

Bobby nodded. "Yeah, that sounds about right." He stopped and looked up, suddenly. "Dean, what the hell are you doing?"

Sam and Jodi looked up as well and saw Dean fiddling with something, a narrow strap that jingled as he handled it. He shrugged and dropped the item; it was Molly's pink collar but the color was no longer distinguishable, it was so stained with blood. The jingling came from her tags. He hadn't meant to pick it up, to be honest, but his fingers needed something to do and it was there.

"Wait a second," Sam said, suddenly. "Give me that."

"The collar?" Dean asked, incredulously. "Why?"

Sam jumped up and grabbed it from the top of the piano. "Where did you find this, Jodi?"

Jodi shook her head. "I didn't find it; it was on the dog. I took it off when I got back into the car because it was sticking to her fur from all the… you know, all the blood and gunk," she said, cringing.

Sam unclasped the collar and a small, rectangular object slipped off. It had been latched to the collar with a small carabiner. Dean couldn't remember ever seeing it on the collar before.

"Dean, get me my laptop," Sam said. He looked at the thing in his hands and, with a flick of his thumb, popped it open.

"What is that?" Dean asked, looking over Sam's shoulder.

"Get the damn computer!" Sam shouted.

Dean glared at him but disappeared into the kitchen where they had left their things. He came back a moment later with the laptop in his hands.

"Here. Now, are you gonna tell us what this is about?" he demanded.

Bobby and Jodi both leaned forward to get a better view of Sam and the object in his hand. Molly opened one eye and snuffled but didn't move.

"It's a flashdrive," Sam said. He set up the laptop on the coffee table and wiped the remaining few spots of dried blood from the device in his hand.

"A what-drive?" Dean asked.

"A flashdrive," Bobby answered. There was unease in his tone. "You can store information on them. Don't you know anything about computers?" he sneered.

Dean shook his head, bewildered.

Silently, they all watched as Sam carefully slid the drive into the laptop's USB port. Instantly, a folder popped up onto the screen, containing a single, video document.

A pregnant tension filled the room as Sam hovered the cursor over the document.

"This is gonna be bad," he said, and clicked to open it.

The image was dark and grainy. The quality was poor but it was worsened by the darkness of the room in which it was filmed. They could barely make out a table in the shadows. Behind it was a dark, muffled shape.

"What is that?" Dean asked, his voice stern and stony.

"I don't know," Sam answered, but the question was answered for them all an instant later when the room on the screen was suddenly bathed in bright, artificial light.

His fears were confirmed in that split second; it was Liv, suspended by a thick chain that had been latched to the ceiling with a heavy hook in cement. Her toes barely touched the ground and her wrists were red and raw from their bindings. Initially, Dean thought she was nude but he quickly saw that she wore a white tank top and a pair of plain, white panties. She was covered in blood, both dried and fresh, and she was thinner than when he'd last seen her a month before, much thinner. She didn't look conscious, or even alive.

A small, weak sound escaped from behind Jodi's lips. She covered her mouth and cried out.

On the laptop's screen, a woman stepped into view. She hopped up onto the table and smiled at the camera, sweeping her long, blonde hair over her shoulder. Long, rows of razor sharp teeth slid from beneath her gums. Dean knew her face, her bright blue eyes and full lips, but couldn't place how. When she spoke, it all rushed back to him.

"No way," he growled. "We killed that bitch!"

"Hang on a second," Sam said, peering closer at the screen. "That's not her. It looks like her, but it's not. I would know, I cut off her damn head."

Dean's face contorted into a grimace as the woman began to speak. Behind her, Liv's head came up, slowly. He was overwhelmed by relief when he saw that she was alive, but it didn't last and was replaced by bitter, choking agony. Her eyes were both blackened, one was closed completely, and her lip was split in two places. His fists opened and closed, sporadically, until his knuckles were completely white.

The blonde woman's mouth was moving but they heard nothing.

"Turn it up," Bobby said, blankly. His face was an empty canvas.

Sam turned up the volume and the room filled with her wicked, sneering voice. He played back the last few seconds, so that they could hear her full message.

"Hello there, Winchesters!" the woman laughed. "Do I look familiar, somehow? It's been a while, but I haven't forgotten."

Sam's jaw clenched as the woman spoke in her gay, falsely cheerful tone.

"We were having so much fun in that rinky-dink town. It was like an all-you-can-eat buffet that just went on and on! My sister and I were really enjoying ourselves, until you two showed up." She leaned back on the table and inspected the nails on her right hand. "You ruined everything," she said. Her voice had changed. It was cold and angry.

"You killed my sister," she said, and jumped down from the table. Dean's eyes widened as she stepped around it and approached Liv, who was still awake but barely able to hold up her head. As she stepped closer, the woman pulled out a short, shiny blade from her jacket pocket. She was at least a full eight inches taller than Liv. "You murdered her, and left her lying in a barn to rot."

Dean's entire body stiffened as the woman trailed the blade down Liv's right cheek to her throat.

"Should I kill her?" the woman asked, in a playful voice. "You would deserve it. You took something from me, so I should take something from you, right?"

Liv muttered something unintelligible. Her voice was dry and gravelly.

"What was that?" the blonde woman asked. She grabbed the crown of Liv's hair and wrenched it up, raising Liv's face so that it pointed skyward. "Say that again, please."

"I said, you're wasting your time," Liv groaned, wincing.

"How's that?"

"We aren't together anymore," Liv answered and coughed. A fine spray of blood shot out of her mouth and her bottom lip began to bleed, freely, from the wide gash. "He didn't want me."

Dean's gut twisted into a knot at her words. He wanted to take it all back; he wanted to have never sent her away. He would have given anything for her not to believe the words that she spoke.

"Awww…" The blonde woman pouted. "But you wanted him, didn't you? You wanted to be his."

Liv only glared at her, without speaking.

"I'll tell you what!" the woman said, cheerfully. "I'll help you out with that!"

She made a beckoning motion with her finger and another person stepped into view, a bald man with bold, black tattoos. Dean recognized him, as well.

"The fucking bartender," he growled, under his breath. Sam, who still hadn't spoken, nodded.

"Hold her still," the woman said, coldly. She smiled at Liv, showing her fangs, again. "I'm going to give you what you've always wanted, little girl. I'm going to make you his."

She bent down and snatched the bottom of Liv's tank top, yanking it up to her breasts. Liv stomach was streaked with a few, light blood stains but was much cleaner than the rest of her body. That changed in a second when the blonde began slicing into her soft, pale flesh.

"D is for Dean, you're favorite person in the whole world," the woman sang, as she carved the letter into Liv's stomach, at least five inches tall and three inches wide.

"E is for…. Energetic! I bet he was a very energetic lover," she grinned. The blade carved into Liv's skin again, splitting it apart and sending a wave of blood down her body. Liv shrieked, and tried to back away but the man held her tightly in place.

"A is for… Amazing… He's such an amazing hunter, isn't he?" The woman flicked her wrist three times, forming an easily decipherable A that released another torrent of blood.

"And N, well N is easy. N is for never, as in, you'll never see him again," she said, completing his name with three brutal, ruthless strokes of her knife.

The entire time Liv had struggled in the man's grasp, screaming and fighting to free herself.

"Lucky for you, he has a short name," the blonde woman said, heartlessly. She had straightened up and was smiling at Liv, who finally stopped screaming but was still weeping openly and moaning through her clenched lips.

The blonde woman leaned closer and licked at the blood that trickled down Liv's chin. Her fangs shot out again and grazed against Liv's neck.

Liv's chest heaved as she struggled to back away from the vamp. The man continued to hold her into place but her entire lower half was covered in thick, slippery blood. It caught in the hem of her panties and trailed down her legs to the ground, where it puddled at her feet. Shuddering, her body trembled before growing completely still and she took a deep breath. Without any warning, she slipped away from the man and leaned forward to spit directly into the blonde woman's face. A thick glob of congealed blood and saliva landed with a satisfying splat . Liv grinned, revealing sickeningly bloodstained teeth and gums.

"You bitch!" the blonde woman shrieked, and wiped at the blood that had landed on her face and even splattered her hair. The man grabbed onto the back of Liv's head, yanking at her hair to hold her still. The woman raised her hand and delivered a weighty backhand to the side of Liv's face. Liv's head dropped and her body hung, unmoving. Behind her, the bald man laughed and released her.

The blonde turned back to the camera, smiling in spite of the filth that still covered her face.

"Maybe, when she wakes up, we'll add your last name. Or, maybe, we'll just kill her." She shrugged and stepped closer to the camera. "Either way, she won't be around much longer. I'd give her maybe a week, at the rate we're going. Hell, she could be dead by the time you see this. You can decide whether you want to try to save her or not. If you do, you know where to find me."

As she got closer to the camera's lens, she looked back over her shoulder where Liv still hung, unconscious, and grinned. The screen went black; the video was over.

"Is that all that was on the drive?" Dean asked, without expression.

Sam nodded and closed the black screen. "That's it."

"Can you tell when it was recorded?" Bobby asked.

Sam clicked through the file, looking for anything distinguishable. He shook his head. "No, it's corrupt. There's no information."

"We have to call the police, now; you know where they are," Jodi said and picked up her phone which shook in her unsteady hand. Bobby stopped her by grabbing onto her elbow.

"No, we can't. The police will never find them. They're vampires, Jodi. They're fast and smart. That's why there are hunters in the first place," he said.

"Then what do we do?" she demanded. "She's at least three hours away; she could be dead, already!"

Dean stood and turned back to her. "You're not doing anything. You stay here with Molly. We're leaving. Now."

He was in the Impala with the motor running before Sam and Bobby had even reached the door.


	17. Chapter 17

The barn was completely empty. The windows were dark and no light was filtering through the cracks in the doors. It was dark and void of all life. She had said they would know where to find her, but she was wrong. Dean didn't know where to look, other than the barn where Sam had slaughtered the woman's sister. But the barn was dark and empty.

"What else is in the area?" Bobby demanded. He was losing patience and Dean couldn't blame him.

"There's the bar. The hospital. The motel. I don't think we went anywhere else," Sam answered. Dean could hear the edginess in his voice as well.

"We were all over this town that week," Dean said, his deep voice thick with anger and tension. "They have to be here, somewhere." Dean pushed open the door and headed for the barn with long, purposeful strides. He'd already circled the empty building twice but was certain that he'd missed something. His instincts guided him through the darkened woods, insisting that Liv was near, and his instincts were usually right.

Behind him, Dean could hear Sam traipsing through the trees and underbrush, as loud as an oversized bear. He glanced behind him to shush his booming brother and saw Bobby following them; Bobby was accustomed to the woods and his footsteps were silent.

"Would you try to be just a little bit subtle?" Dean asked, irritably. "She knows we're coming but we don't have to announce ourselves."

Sam shrugged in apology and tried to tiptoe over the fallen branches at his feet. Dean expected the vamps would still hear them, but it made him feel better to have someone to yell at. Yelling at people always made him feel better.

"How far out do these woods go?" Bobby asked in a whisper. He had stopped and was scanning the surrounding area. With the Impala's headlights shut off, the moon offered the only light. It was large and bright in the sky above but the trees blocked out most of its' luminescence.

"Depends on the direction. Not far that way," Dean said, pointing in the direction of the road. "Maybe a couple miles to the south and east."

"They aren't in the woods," Sam added. "They were in a building. There wouldn't be a building that far into the woods."

"He's right. I know they're here, dammit!" Dean said, clenching his fists. He was struggling to contain the wrath that threatened to erupt inside him. He hated feeling so helpless and out of control; he always had. It was the same feeling that had accosted him when Sam had died so many years ago, the feeling that had overwhelmed him while lying in the hospital bed after his father had collapsed on the floor. It was a feeling that had followed him for years and it always made him feel like garbage.

"Maybe we should come back in the morning. We can't even see anything," Sam said.

"No!" Dean growled. "We're not leaving until I find that bitch and rip her fucking head off."

Dean gripped his sawed off shotgun tightly in one hand and stomped toward the barn. He was no longer concerned with being quiet and surprising them. Subtlety was the furthest thing from his mind. He wanted her to come out, to confront him. He was done with hiding and elusiveness. She wanted a fight and he was happy to oblige.

When he reached the barn door, he banged on it with his right fist, more out of frustration than actual expectation of a response. It knocked against the wooden siding, thundering through the barn and echoing into the trees. When he heard nothing else, he slammed the door open, knocking it off its' hinges and sending it to the ground where it cracked and sent clouds of dust into the air.

"What the hell was that?" Bobby shouted. He and Sam ran through the woods toward Dean. They both stopped, out of breath, and stared down at the door. Bobby pulled out a flashlight and shone it into the barn. They had been through it already, and found nothing, but Dean followed the cylinder of light as it broke the darkness inside the building.

"Dean, there's nothing in there," Sam insisted, pointing into the barn, where nothing could be seen outside of the flashlight's weak beam.

"Dammit!" Dean shouted. He kicked at the door, splintering it into two. The frantic anger and feelings of ineptitude washed over him and he lowered himself to a crouch, covering his face with his hands. He knew that he had failed her, that she was probably already dead, and he couldn't do anything about it. A deafening roar rushed through his ears, a monotonous white noise that drowned out all other sound. Dimly, he became aware of Bobby kneeling beside him. Bobby's hand gripped his shoulder, meant to provide comfort he was sure, but it only intensified the aching.

"It's not too late, Dean," Bobby said. "We can still find her but we gotta get outta this barn; we gotta get moving. Are you hearing me, boy?" Bobby's grip on his shoulder strengthened.

Dean didn't respond. His own hands were shaking when he held them out in front of his face. He couldn't banish the image of Liv, chained to that damned hook, covered in blood, out of his mind. It _was_ too late, and it was all his fault.

"God dammit, Dean, listen to me!" Bobby shouted.

Dean continued to stare, as if in a trance, at his fingers. The ground below was littered with dirt and straw; their footsteps had disturbed the ground when they'd searched the interior of the building. The falling door had blown up huge chunks of dust and particles of debris. His hands trembled as he slowly began to focus on his surroundings and on the patches of soil below his quivering fingers. There was dirt below him, and straw, but there was something else, as well.

"What is that?" Dean asked.

"What's what?" Sam said, searching the area around them.

"That, right there. Is that metal?" Dean pointed at the object he had seen, partially obscured by the broken soil.

"Shit!" Sam shouted and kicked at the ground. He dropped to his knees and swept aside the rubble, revealing a square of old, solid wood that had been buried. An indentation had been carved out of it and a metal hoop was attached and tucked in close. It was a trap door.

"It's a door!" Bobby groaned. "Of course! Hurry up, pull it open."

It took all of Dean's strength to tug the door open. A heavy chain held it upright and he peered down the tunnel, into the darkness.

"Give me that flashlight," Dean said, sharply. Bobby handed it over without comment and Dean shone the beam down, revealing a long, metal ladder that went on for several feet before vanishing into the shadows.

"How far down does it go?" Sam asked.

"Let's find out," Dean said, shortly, and lowered himself onto the top rungs. "Here, point this down there."

"I'll be right behind you," Sam said. He took the flashlight and held it steady.

"No, Bobby goes next. Then you."

"Hang on a minute, guys, we gotta get our weapons from the car," Bobby shouted.

Dean stopped for a second and looked down into the abyss. After a second's deliberation, he nodded but didn't climb out of the tunnel.

"Alright, you two hit up the car. I'll meet you down there." He snatched the flashlight out of Sam's hand and began to descend the ladder once again.

"Dammit, Dean, you're gonna get yourself killed," Bobby growled, hurrying toward the Impala, but Dean didn't stop.

With the flashlight tucked between his shoulder and chin, his vision was drastically hindered. He couldn't see anything below him but decided it didn't really matter until he was at the bottom. The tunnel seemed to go on forever but when he finally reached the bottom and looked up, the hatch door was still visible. The ground below him was hard, packed dirt and black as the shadows that surrounded him.

Taking the flashlight in one hand and his ten inch buck knife in the other, Dean started down the narrow corridor. There was only one direction to follow so he didn't have to debate what to do next. That was good; he didn't want to think anymore. He craved action; he was tired of playing games and wanted to fight.

The flashlight beam was strong and steady but it was so dark that anything outside of its' initial light was wholly concealed. He crept along, scanning the walls around him for any sign of a door or opening. After several yards, the tunnel forked into two separate paths.

Dean cursed and took a step back, surveying both passageways. They were identical and neither showed any signs of habitation, but he could smell them. The vampires gave off a musky, dry scent that he would have recognized in his sleep. He thought it was stronger coming from the left tunnel but he wasn't entirely sure. He took several deep breaths, trying to focus himself, but it didn't help.

"Son of a bitch!" he hissed and headed down the left passage, almost in a sprint. Slowly he became aware of another light source, something he couldn't identify except by the recognition that he could see beyond his flashlight's beam. He jogged for five full minutes before the tunnel widened and became a room where the source of the phantom light revealed itself.

A small table sat in the middle of the room. The walls were cement blocks, dark grey and white and the floor was the same black soil. An old fashioned kerosene lantern sat in the middle of the table and beside it, the blonde vampire lounged with her legs crossed and a wicked smile on her lips.

"Hello, handsome," she simpered, swinging her legs. "Took you long enough."

"Where is she?" Dean demanded. He dropped the flashlight at his feet and assumed a defensive stance. The vampire just threw her head back and laughed. "Tell me where she is!"

The vamp leaned forward; her smile widened and she chuckled. "Dean Winchester. I can see why she got so upset when we talked about you." She eyed him up and down, licking the razor sharp fangs that slipped out, behind her lips.

"Listen, vampire Barbie; you tell me where she is and maybe I won't skin you alive before chopping off your fucking head," he growled, brandishing his knife before him.

Her peals of laughter filled the small room, grating on his nerves and fueling his anger, and she hopped down off of the table.

"Do you think I'm afraid of you?" she purred, taking a few steps closer to him. "Let me tell you, you may be one solid mass of sex appeal, but I can guarantee anything you could do to me would be consensual."

"Well, I appreciate the compliment, or whatever the hell that was, but I'm not here to play games with you so why don't we get this thing started?" Dean said. He was done with her witty banter.

The blonde frowned playfully and bared her rows of silvery teeth. "If you insist," she said, and ran at him. Her thick, blonde hair flew out behind her like a halo.

She was impossibly fast. He had gone into it expecting a fight but he wasn't prepared for her unimaginable speed. He barely had time to remember her sister, and how swift she had been as well, and then the vamp was on him. Her teeth snapped just inches from his face and she tore at his chest.

Together, they flew backward and thudded into the wall behind him. The cement blocks were cold and damp from being so far below ground. The blow knocked the breath from his lungs and the knife from his hand. Gripping her shoulders, he fought to push her away from him but she was like a leech, latching onto him and gnashing her fangs.

Dean grabbed a handful of her long, blonde hair and yanked as hard as he could. Her head flew backward and he was able to twist out of her grasp. Using her hair as a handle, he flung her into the nearest wall and scurried away, scanning the ground for his knife.

Shrieking, she lunged for him again. Her fingernails were like claws that furrowed into his collar and throat, leaving long, shallow gashes. Dean cursed and fell backward onto his ass. She landed on top of him and immediately began pummeling him with her fists. The blows rained down on his head and shoulders. One particularly well aimed hit disoriented him for a second, just long enough for her to shift herself on top of him. She straddled his waist and grabbed his wrists, pinning them to the ground.

"Did you really think you could come in here and kill me? Did you think you could get away with what you did to my sister?" she screeched into his face. Her mouth lowered to his shoulder and she sank her teeth into him, breaking through the multiple layers of clothing until her fangs reached his skin and tore it apart.

Dean groaned and felt hot blood spilling over his chest and neck. The pain was incredible but her aim was off; she'd missed his jugular by at least eight inches. He raised his torso up, putting intense pressure on his shoulders and stretching his muscles. Pain roared in his joints but he was able to push her up and away from him, just enough to deliver a solid head butt that knocked her back and weakened her grip. Dean rolled them over so that he sat on her stomach and pinned her arms to the ground with her knees.

"Dean!" Bobby shouted. He burst into the room, carrying a hatchet and another, smaller flashlight.

"Hey, Bobby, hand me that knife, wouldja?" Dean said. The blonde was regaining her strength and he wasn't sure how much longer he'd be able to hold her. "This bitch is _strong_."

Bobby hurried over and, ignoring the knife, handed him the hatchet. Dean took it, tested its' weight, and without ceremony, buried the blade in the woman's throat. Blood spurted into the air, hitting him in the face, but he lifted the hatchet and slammed it down again, over and over, until her head was fully separated from her body. Her blue eyes glossed over and stared up at nothing.

"Where's Sam?" Dean asked. He crawled off of the blonde and passed the hatchet to Bobby, who used wiped the blade on his jeans.

"He went down the other way."

"Let's go, the bartender's still out there. He must be guarding Liv." Dean scooped up the dropped flashlight and knife and ran out of the room. Bobby looked around the room, grabbed the lantern, and quickly followed.

Liv couldn't tell if she was asleep or awake. She thought her eyes might be open but she couldn't see anything; the world around her was pitch black. Or she was blind. She was mildly dismayed that the thought didn't frighten her. She just wanted the pain to stop. The only think she cared about was making the pain stop.

Every part of her body was in agony but the area just above her stomach felt hot and tight, despite the cool temperate of the room in which she was shackled. She remembered the feeling of the knife, slicing into her flesh. When she'd been able to see, she could make out the drying pool of blood at her feet but she couldn't see the wounds below her breasts. She imagined they were red and shiny, teeming with infection.

The only parts of her body that didn't hurt were her hands. She was terrified of the implication; her hands had been numb for days. She didn't know if anyone had ever lost their hands due to being tied up, but it didn't seem like an absurd supposition. She struggled to wiggle her fingers but couldn't find the strength. She gave up after only a few attempts.

In the beginning of her internment, they had only let her down once a day to use an old, rusty bucket in the corner. They'd given her water every day, only enough to wet her mouth, in the first few weeks but there had been nothing for several days. They never gave her food. After a few weeks, she didn't even need the bucket, anymore. Her tongue felt huge and dry in her mouth. Her body hurt far too much to ever really feel the hunger but the thirst was always near the forefront of her mind.

Liv scrunched her eyes closed and then opened them wide. One didn't move at all but she felt a sharp stab of pain shoot up her eyebrow. The other was definitely open, but she still couldn't see. She wondered if maybe she was dead. But no, she didn't think being dead would hurt quite so much.

Closing her eyes, she let her head drop down. Her neck and shoulders ached from the effort of holding it up but the pain wasn't alleviated by relaxing her muscles; it only shifted to other areas of her body.

They were smart; she had to give them some credit. They had tied her wrists together and suspended her above the ground just high enough that her toes touched the floor but couldn't bear any of her weight. The first few days, it felt like her body was being slowly stretched.

Liv smiled. Her lips slid easily over the bloody clots that covered her teeth and gums. She didn't want to die there, in that smelly hole, and turn into vampire chow, but she didn't think she'd turn away Death if he decided to show up. She remembered Dean talking about meeting Death; he had described the entity as a skinny, chalky faced man that reminded him of a crow with his black hair and beak of a nose. Liv laughed and winced; her throat felt like it had been paved with loose gravel. Thinking of Death, hearing Dean's description in his deep, dusky voice, filled her with longing. He never liked talking about what he did but at night, after they made love and filed away the ugly business of each day, he would tell her stories about his past. The stories scared and excited her. He was so amazing, so capable. She admired and envied his strength. Her rasping laughter turned to dry sobs that made her chest ache. Her eyes had days before lost the ability to form tears and the crying made them feel even drier. She opened and closed them, trying in vain to build up some moisture, and dimly realized that she could see.

The room was still dark but not the empty cloud of blackness it had been. The light grew, slowly, and seemed to bounce around. She wondered if it really was Death, coming for her, but Dean had never mentioned a light. She thought it might be the vampires but the blonde one had said they wouldn't be back, that she was going to leave Liv down there to die. Anyway, they never brought light with them; they didn't need it. They would appear suddenly, flicking on the harsh, fluorescent portable lantern they'd brought down and laughing when they saw how they had startled her.

"Hel- Hello?" Liv called. Her voice was soft and flat but she thought she heard something in response.

"Is anyone there?" she asked, struggling to shout. "Is someone coming?"

"Liv? Is that you?" someone called back. It wasn't Dean but she knew the voice.

"Sam!" Liv shrieked. The inside of her mouth and throat were dry and they cracked apart with the exertion of using them so forcefully.

The light grew even brighter and, suddenly, it filled the entire room, blinding her. She couldn't see anything beyond its' brilliance.

"Oh my god, Liv! You're alive!"

Liv turned away from the light, squinting.

"Is it really you, Sam?" she asked, struggling against her chains with more strength than she'd been able to muster in days.

"It's me, Liv. Hang on, I'm gonna get you down, okay?" Sam put down the light and stepped in front of it. She was able to open her eyes and really see him.

"Okay," she said, crying from giddy relief and joy.

It wasn't difficult for him to lift her up and free the chains from the hook. They weren't locked in place but the hook was large; he had to raise her body up high enough to clear the length of it but, in her condition, he did it with one arm. With the other, he reached up to gently lower her hands. She shrieked when he took her into his arms, all of her bones and muscles grinding together in a symphony of pain.

"I'm so sorry, Liv, just hang on and it'll be okay, I promise," Sam said, softly. "I don't have anything with me to cut these off but I think Dean does, in the car." He cradled her to his chest and held her close.

"Dean's here?" she asked, her face pressed against his chest.

"Yeah, he's here. Bobby is too. We're gonna go find them, okay?"

Liv only nodded. The shock of seeing him after so long, and the intense pain that coursed through her body, left her even weaker and shaking in his arms.

"Okay, let's go," Sam said. He dropped the flashlight he had been carrying and left it. Liv regretted losing the light but was glad that he didn't shift her around anymore. She felt like her bones were as brittle as toffee, creaking and cracking inside her skin. Her flesh felt tender and near to split where the evil bitch had carved Dean's name into her skin and when Sam picked her up, and she bent at the waist, she felt warm liquid seeping out of her wounds. If she'd had anything in her stomach, she felt certain she would have thrown up.

"Sammy," she murmured, ashamed of how weak and powerless her voice sounded.

"Yeah, Liv?" he said. She could tell he was being as gentle as possible but her body still ached where his hands and arms dug into her back and thighs. Before she could answer him, she passed out.

The next half hour slipped by in a haze. One minute, she would be lost in a sea of black and grey; the next, she would be in Sam's arms as he raced up a long tunnel. She couldn't see; it was far too dark, but she knew his smell and she knew they were still underground. She wondered if perhaps she really had died and this was hell – stuck in a pit, constantly trying to find Dean, in torrential agony. Then the black fugue would overtake her and she would know nothing.

Finally, after an eternity, she opened her eyes and could see, again. She could make out another passage, two others, actually. They were at some kind of turning point. And she could see two large, wobbly shapes approaching them in a hurry. They carried the light source.

"Dean!" Sam shouted. "Hurry up, I've got her!"

"What? Is she alive?" Dean sprinted toward them. The light shook and distorted the walls. Liv closed her eyes against the confusion.

"She's alive," Sam answered. "But she's not good. We have to get her to a hospital."

And then he was there, standing right in front of her, disheveled and covered in blood.

"Dean?" she whispered, and reached for him. He took her hand and pressed it to his cheek.

"Her hands are freezing," he said. He slipped off his jacket and the flannel he wore beneath it and tucked both around her. She was enveloped in his warmth, and his scent. She wondered, again, if she had died and was actually in heaven.

"Yeah, it's cold down here. We should go; hurry up, Bobby," Sam shouted. Bobby trailed behind them with the hatchet and a lantern.

"Here, let me take her," Dean said, reaching for Liv.

"Listen, let's get to the ladder, first. It's gonna be tough getting her up and you can go first. I'll try to pass her up."

Dean nodded. "Alright, let's go."

"What about that other one?" Bobby asked. "That bald bastard."

"We don't have time for him, right now," Dean insisted. Liv saw him look at her with concern in his eyes. She reached for him again and he took her hand, cradling it gently in his. She tried to smile, to let him know she was alright, but the darkness plowed over her and she was gone, again.

The next time she came to, she was jolted awake by the pain. She was still tucked into Sam's arm but he was halfway up the ladder. She tried not to cry out but each time he climbed another rung, she was jostled up and down and she moaned before she could stop herself.

"Is she alright? Be careful, for fuck's sake!" Dean shouted down to them. She looked up and saw him a few feet above. He had reached the top of the ladder and was reaching down.

"She's okay," Sam called up the ladder. "I'm being careful but it hurts her just to move."

"Just hurry up," Bobby said. His voice came from below. Liv was comforted to know that she was surrounded by the three men but her comfort didn't last long. She didn't know how much longer she'd be able to take the torture, but realized she had no choice.

"We're almost there, Liv," Sam said.

"Okay," she whispered and bit her lower lip to keep from crying again.

Mercifully, she disappeared into the fog, again. When she woke, they were outside. Bobby and Sam panted from the long and arduous climb but Dean ran to the car and drove it toward them. Liv shivered in the chilly air and was grateful for Dean's flannel and jacket. She felt badly; it left him in only a black t-shirt, but he didn't complain.

With the Impala parked in front of the barn and the heat on high, Dean climbed into the backseat and Sam followed suit, ducking down beneath the hood to pass her over. Liv whimpered throughout the transfer but briefly forgot her pain when she was finally in Dean's arms. He pulled her into his lap and held her close, tugging the jacket more tightly around her. She couldn't keep from crying then, with her face nestled against his neck.

"Dean," she whispered, and wrapped her arms around his neck, whimpering.

"It's okay," he murmured. He stroked her hair and kissed her temple. "It's okay, I've got you."

Something about his voice, and the way he spoke to her with such tenderness, broke down the floodgate of emotion and she was suddenly sobbing uncontrollably.

"Shhh," he said. "Don't cry, baby. You're okay. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you. I promise."

She knew she shouldn't, but she believed him. With the echo of his words replaying in her ears, she succumbed to the darkness, again.

She didn't wake again for three days but, when she did, he was still by her side.


	18. Chapter 18

**So sorry for the delay! I hope you guys didn't forget about us! Anyway, enjoy this slightly shorter chapter. As always, reviews are appreciated!**

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"Alright, how do you three know the woman?" the doctor asked in a petulant, irritable tone. He was tall and light-skinned with a mop of sandy hair. The tag around his neck gave his name as Dr. Lee Morgan. Dean thought he was too young for the job but, for once, was able to keep his mouth shut. The man's freckles made him angry, but he couldn't figure out why.

"I'm her uncle," Bobby said, stepping forward. They had decided claiming Bobby as Liv's uncle would be the safest way to go. It explained the differences in their last names but gave him authority to make decisions, as a blood relative. "How's she doing?"

Dr. Morgan shrugged. "I'll be blunt because you all look like you can take it and there's not really another way to put it. She's got three broken ribs, two sprained wrists, a serious concussion, seven broken fingers, a dislocated shoulder, internal bleeding, countless contusions, and she's malnourished."

Dean's eyes hardened and his hands clenched into fists. He knew she was hurt but this litany of injuries terrified and infuriated him.

"She'll be alright, though. Won't she, Doc?" Bobby asked.

Scanning his clipboard, the doctor shrugged again. "Realistically, she should be dead by now. I don't know what that woman went through but I know it went on for weeks. But, she's here now and I'm not worried about any of that. It's the infection in those untreated wounds on her torso that concern me. She's on a pretty hefty dose of antibiotics but I'm giving it a day or two before I'm comfortable suggesting any kind of prognosis. At this point, it could go either way."

"Is she awake?" Sam asked, hopefully.

Dr. Morgan shook his head. "No, we've got her knocked out with sedatives."

"Can we see her?" Dean asked, brusquely. The door to Liv's hospital room was guarded by a single police officer who wouldn't budge, no matter how much Dean had tried to persuade him.

"Her uncle can. That's it for now, and only for a few minutes. Understand?"

Dean frowned but nodded. He hadn't expected the doctor to let him in. It didn't matter; he'd find a way into the room one way or another.

"Alright, when you're ready, just go to the nurse's station. I'll let them know you can look in on her. If you don't have any other questions, I've got other patients to check on." Dr. Morgan turned and headed down the hallway. He had only gone a few yards before he stopped and turned back to them. "Would any of you happen to be named Dean?"

Bobby and Sam both turned to Dean, who nodded slowly. "I'm Dean," he said, his deep voice wavering just the slightest bit.

The doctor nodded. "I expect the cops'll have some questions for you. Don't go far."

After the doctor had continued down the hall, and was out of earshot, Dean turned to the others. "So, what do we tell the cops? I'm not leaving without her and I don't think they're gonna let us hang around without answering their questions."

"I say we keep it simple," Bobby said. "We don't know who or what happened to her. We went looking and we found her on the side of the road. If we all stick to it, and we keep it basic, we should be alright."

Sam and Dean both nodded in agreement. Dean wasn't sure it would work out so simply, with his name carved into her flesh, but the fact that they'd brought her in had to be a point in his favor.

"Alright, go check on her. We'll hang out in the waiting room," Sam said.

When Bobby came back, twenty minutes later, the strained expression on his face did nothing to alleviate Dean's anxieties.

"I guess I don't have to ask how she looks," Dean said, tremulously.

"She looks like roadkill, to be honest, but she's tougher than she seems. She'll pull through," Bobby answered, settling himself into the chair beside Dean and resting a hand on his shoulder. "She'll be alright."

But Dean wasn't sure he believed Bobby. He actually welcomed the distraction when the cops finally showed up and questioned the three of them.

The detective was good, and thorough, but he had nothing to go on. He spent an hour grilling them with question after question, separating them to hear their stories, but they had planned well and he couldn't hold them. After collecting their phone numbers (fake, of course) he reluctantly left.

"That wasn't so bad," Sam said, after the detective had gone.

"Well, don't get too comfortable. I bet they'll be back," Bobby said. Dean secretly agreed but, on that note, they were both wrong. A day later, the cop outside Liv's room was gone and the doctor had agreed to let them sit in her room, provided only one of them was present at a time. Bobby and Sam quickly realized that Dean intended to be the one, at all times. They took turns bringing him coffee and food from the vending machine but, other than to use the restroom, he never left her side.

* * *

One of her eyes didn't seem to be working properly. The other one, the good eye, was hazy and blurred but at least she could see. Her depth perception was all wrong and she felt like a giant ball of felt had been stuffed into her skull. She wondered if she might be blind in the bad eye but when she lifted her right arm to wave it in front of her face, the pain that exploded in her elbow and wrist banished all other thoughts from her mind. She grimaced and lowered her arm; it was heavy and stiff and she quickly realized it had been tightly wrapped. Which was good news, she decided. At least she wasn't still in that damned hole.

"Hey, beautiful," a deep, soft voice said, coming from somewhere off to her left, where her vision was limited. She didn't need to see him, though. She would have recognized that voice no matter what, even through the haze.

"Dean?" She tried to sit up but strong, sturdy hands held her down at her shoulder.

"Stay still; don't try to get up. You're in pretty rough shape."

Liv settled for turning her head so she could see him. Her good eye still wasn't able to focus but, when he leaned in, she could see the concern etched on his face. She also realized that he was holding her hand.

"Dean, what happened? I don't remember…" She trailed off at that because suddenly she did remember. Not everything, hardly anything after Sam had untied her, but she remembered seeing Dean in the tunnel. She remembered him appearing from behind a halo of blinding, white light. She remembered quick, random snatches of the drive that seemed to have gone on forever. She remembered him holding her, and being carried into the hospital emergency room. After that, there was nothing.

"It's okay, it'll probably all come back to you in a few days," he said, smiling reassuringly. She felt his fingers tighten around her hand and frowned. Why was he there? Why was he holding her hand? Of course, Bobby would have insisted they try to help her, and Dean was a good guy; he wouldn't have wanted her to die. It made sense that they got her out, but why did he stay? She tugged her hand away and looked down at her lap, where the stiff white sheet was piled into her lap.

"You're going to be okay," he said. His smile had disappeared but his voice was still warm and comforting.

"I can't see out of this eye," she said, motioning toward the left side of her face.

"It's okay," he answered. "You took some pretty powerful punches but your eyes are okay; it's just swollen shut." He reached up to stroke the side of her face, pushing a few strands of hair away, but she pulled away just before his fingers could touch her. He frowned, and let out a short sigh and leaned back in his chair.

Liv couldn't say anything. She wondered if he knew how difficult it was to be so close to him. Was he really so blind that he didn't realize how much it would hurt her? She wasn't angry, but she was disappointed.

They sat like that, without speaking, for almost five full minutes before he leaned in again.

"Listen, there's not a whole lot I can say to make up for what I did. But, I want to try."

He reached for her hand and she let him take it. He was gentle, mindful of the bandages that masked her injuries.

"Do you feel guilty? Is that was this is about?" she asked. He started shaking his head before she'd even finished speaking.

"No, it's not that. I mean, it's my fault this happened, but that's not why I'm here, now. I screwed up," he said, his voice rising. "I got scared and I tried to do the right thing, but I just made things worse. Big surprise there," he added, morosely.

Liv tried to keep her emotions in check. She still didn't completely understand what he was saying.

"I don't understand, Dean. I need you to be really, really clear because I don't want to get this wrong," she said, trying to sound stern despite the fuzziness that was still clouding her thoughts.

He reached up to place his hand against her neck and, again, she allowed it. The warmth of his strong fingers against her skin took her back and filled her with an almost forgotten heat.

"I want you to come back with us. I want you to stay with me, live with me, so I can take care of you and keep you safe. I don't want you to ever leave. I messed up before but, I swear to you, if you give me another chance, it'll never happen, again." He leaned forward until his forehead met hers. "Please, Liv, just try to trust me."

Tears pooled in her good eye. She wanted to say no, to make him understand how hard it had been for her, but she was too tired. Even nodding sent short spasms down her back and through her ribcage but she managed.

"Okay," she whispered, and barely noticed the pain in her bruised and split lips when he pressed his against them.


	19. Chapter 19

**Hey, everybody! I'm so sorry for the delay in updates! I've been really busy IRL and have had to take care of a lot of bleh stuff. Anyway, I hope to be updating on a regular schedule. I do have a few questions/concerns for ya'll. I'm trying to decide if my readers would appreciate a more graphic, explicit description of Dean's and Liv's relationship. I see a lot of that on these boards and people seem to like it… But I don't want to make such a drastic change without checking with the people who are (hopefully) still interested in this story. So, drop me a quick note in the reviews and let me know what you think! This chapter is pretty tame, short and sweet. :)**

* * *

Dean always woke before her. Since arriving at the cabin, after her hospital stay, she'd started sleeping in, sometimes past noon. He didn't mind and he always let her sleep until she woke naturally. He reasoned that, after all she'd been through, she needed the extra rest. The only time he'd ever woken her, she'd been mumbling and groaning in her sleep. He let it go on for several minutes, watching quietly as her eyelashes fluttered and her fingertips twitched open and shut. When the tears began to trickle down her flushed cheeks, and the groans became more frantic and unnerving, he finally wrapped her in his arms and pulled her close, whispering that he was there and she was alright until she grew still and opened her eyes. The bruises had still been dark, her left eye just barely opening inside the swollen, purple and black flesh. The nightmare had ended but the tears continued for several, long minutes. He only held her and brushed her tangled hair away from her face, hating himself for allowing such atrocities to occur and praying to a god he didn't know if he even believed in for her to someday feel safe in his arms, again.

The days had grown longer and the sun warmer, and as they passed, her bruises began to fade. Dean lay awake beside her, watching her sleep. She was smiling, now. No nightmares had plagued her slumber for many weeks. It was a blessing that he cherished every morning. She was sleeping on her back, uncharacteristically sprawled out across the surface of the mattress. The warm, morning sun streamed in through the open window. It was hot, damn hot, and she'd kicked off the thin sheet that they slept beneath. She often joked that he was like a furnace, his body heating the bed enough to render any other blanket useless. In turn, he joked that it was she that made his body so hot in the first place. Regardless, neither of them could endure anything beyond the sheet and, on these mornings, even that was too much.

He grinned, gazing down at her bare torso. When they'd found her, practically buried in that cavernous maw beneath the barn, she had been starved. He'd been able count her ribs, at least the ones he could make out under the blood, and her hip bones had stuck out at brutal angles. He remembered feeling selfish for missing her full hips, firm, thick thighs, and ample bosom. Now, weeks later, she was beginning to fill out again. She kidded him, saying that soon he wouldn't even want her anymore. He only smiled and shook his head, a hundred percent certain that she knew that he would always want her, no matter what she looked like.

Stretched out on the bed, he could still see the outline of her ribs but she no longer had that ravaged, wasted look. Her breasts were pale and round, dusted with the same freckles that adorned her nose. Her nipples were the exact same color as those freckles, something he had always taken a small, silly joy in knowing. His smile broadened as he leaned forward to rest his head on her chest but he paused when his gaze was drawn further down her body. His expression immediately darkened.

The bruises were fading, and for that he was thankful, but the scars would never truly disappear. Looking down at her supple flesh, he grimaced at the sight of those jagged, white welts that would forever bear his name. It was the ugliest thing to look at, to know how much pain she had endured, only to end up wearing his name on her body like a badge that declared her guilty only of the sin of loving him. He reached up and gingerly traced the letters, hating the way they felt, the way they raised up, rough on the edges yet smooth along the middle. He wished them away, as he did every time he saw them, but knew that they would never go away. He thought they might get lighter, smaller, but they would always be there. White hot anger coursed through his body but he refused to let it consume him. She was there, beside him, and she was fine. The scars would be his burden, for the rest of his life, but he would never let them keep him from feeling eternally grateful.

He lowered his head and rested it on her stomach, anxious to look away from the scars. She let out a long sigh and arched her back.

"Hey, baby," he said and lightly kissed the dandelion tattoo beneath her navel. "Sleep okay?"

Liv raised a hand and tangled her fingers through his messy, morning hair, massaging his scalp. "Mhmm. Did you? How long have you been up?"

Dean turned to look at the clock beside the bed. The digital display was black.

"Ahh, shit. The power must be out, again." He jumped out of the bed and twirled around, searching the floor for his clothes. Liv watched him, smiling.

"The power's always out. What time is it?" she asked.

After locating his pants, he slipped one leg into them and grabbed his cell phone. "It's 10:15. God dammit, I should have been up hours ago."

Liv didn't respond, but only kept watching him, smiling, as he hopped on one foot until he had both legs secured within his dark blue jeans.

"Sam's gonna be pissed," he grumbled and tugged on a dark t-shirt with the Lynyrd Skynyrd logo across the front.

"Hey, that's my shirt," Liv protested, sitting up.

Dean narrowed his eyes and grinned. "No, it's not. It's MY shirt. You stole it from me."

"I didn't steal it," she said, insistently. "I borrowed it and you gave it to me."

"Bullshit," he said and slipped his feet into his heavy boots. He pointed at her, accusingly, but his playful smile never wavered. "That's bullshit and you know it."

Liv frowned, wrinkling her nose. The bruises on her eyes were light but he could still see them and it made his heart ache. Her left eye was completely opened, but the outer corner turned down from light swelling on the lid. Dean's smile faltered, only for a second, and by the time his head had emerged from beneath the t-shirt as he pulled it off, his smirk was as mirthful as ever.

"Alright, alright, don't give me that look. Take the damn shirt," he said, balling it up and tossing it at her. It flew through the air and hit her in the face.

"You jerk!" she cried out, laughing. She grabbed the shirt and swatted at him with it but he danced out of reach. At the door, he turned back and blew her a kiss.

"Want breakfast?" he called from the hallway. He was expecting Sam or Bobby to quickly begin berating him for being so slow to get moving but the cabin appeared to be empty.

"Yeah, pancakes and eggs and bacon and French toast and fried potatoes," she listed off as she slipped into the t-shirt.

Dean laughed raucously, interrupting her. "Yeah right, how about Lucky Charms? I think we might have some of those left."

"Sure, whatever," she grumbled and stood. The t-shirt hung down, nearly to her knees. "Hey don't you need a shirt now?" she yelled.

"Nah," he said from the doorway. He had found the box of Lucky Charms and carried it in one hand. In the other, he clutched a carton of orange juice. The meager contents of the cabin's tiny kitchen were disappointing. He would have loved to make her an enormous, filling breakfast in bed but he was pretty sure the eggs in the fridge had been there for over three months and he didn't know how to make French toast, anyway. He dug into the box and shoved a handful of the sugary cereal into his mouth.

Liv stared at him, her eyebrows raised. "What about bowls? Milk? Spoons? Don't you know how to eat cereal?"

"Yeah, you put it in your mouth and chew it," he said, dried crumbs and bits of dehydrated marshmallows spewed out onto his bare chest and ground below him. "We don't have any milk."

Liv shook her head. "No way, Wolfgang Puck. Put a shirt on; you're taking me out for breakfast."

Dean groaned and dropped the box on the ground before collapsing on the bed but a jubilant smile stretched across his face. A month before, she had been refusing to eat. She could barely stand on her own. She only spoke when questioned and never made any demands. Lying on the bed, staring up at her bright and cheerful face, he swore to himself that he would take her out for breakfast every day, if she asked.

"Alright, fine. Let's go," he said, approaching her in a menacing fashion. "But, I'm wearing Skynyrd."

Liv squealed and scurried away from him. He jumped across the bed and loomed over her. He feigned left, knowing that she would jump to the right, and caught her mid-leap. He scooped her up into his arms and reached beneath her shirt, gently tickling her ribs.

"Sam!" she shrieked. "Bobby! Anybody, help me!"

"Not this time, darlin'. No one's here to save you," he growled, lowering his head to her stomach where he pressed his mouth to her flesh and blew, filling the room with impolite, flatulent noises.

She fought him, half-heartedly, until they both ended up on the bed in a tangled heap. With a few, quick movements, he had stripped her of the chosen shirt which he tossed aside, immediately forgotten.

It was lunchtime before they made it out of the cabin.


	20. Chapter 20

**Thank you so much, Kmfables for the kind review! I'm so happy to hear people are still enjoying this story. This chapter ran a little long and I'm sorry about that! Yikes!**

* * *

"I really don't think this is a good idea, Liv," Dean mumbled. He was sitting on their double bed in the cabin with his hands clasped together in his lap.

Liv groaned and rolled her eyes, knowing he wouldn't see her exasperated expression; if she'd been facing him, she doubted she would have been so bold. He could be a real prick when he thought someone wasn't taking him seriously.

"Dean, I have to go home. I've been here for months. I miss my mom and the rest of my family and I need to get some more stuff. My clothes are literally falling apart." She held up her favorite cream colored tank top, with the lace back, which hung from a few, stray threads and had several large holes; half of the lace was in tattered shreds.

"I already said I'd buy you more clothes," he countered. Liv just shook her head. He didn't understand and she didn't know how to make him.

She shuffled over to the bed and sat next to him, taking one of his large hands in hers. "What, with your stolen credit cards? I have money, Dean. I don't need you to buy things for me. And anyway, it's not really about the clothes. I want to see my family; I want to see my old home."

"Okay, I get it, but it's not worth your life. The world isn't safe right now with the damn leviathan all over the place."

"Listen, honey, you and I both know that the world is never safe. No matter what's happening, there will always be monsters out there, whether they're human or not. And, if the world really is about to end, I want to see my parents before it happens. Okay?" She didn't mention her father, who they knew was still alive by some miracle. He kept holding on, in that shitty, small-town hospital, but Liv somehow knew not to return. If he wanted to die alone, she would respect his choice.

Dean was silent for a few minutes. She couldn't tell what he was thinking, she rarely could, but she hoped he wasn't trying to come up with a new argument. She was determined to go back to Georgia for at least a few days.

"I don't know…" he finally began but she cut him off.

"Okay, what about this - why don't you and Sam come with me? You can meet my mom," she said, nudging him with her shoulder, a wide grin spreading across her face.

Dean looked up suddenly, clearly alarmed at the proposition. "What? No way. That's a bad, horrible idea."

Liv laughed, imagining the look on her mother's face when she walked in the door with the two, handsome hunters behind her. Not that she hadn't had her share of boyfriends; she just rarely brought them home.

"Come on! It'll be fun; it's a great time to be in Georgia. It's not too hot but warm enough to be outside without freezing; the weather's great, the peaches are in season. It'll be a fun vacation!" When he continued to shake his head, emphatically, she went on. "You said it's not safe to be alone out there so come with me and keep me safe. It won't take long." She was starting to get lost in fantasies of parading Dean around her old home-town, showing him off to the cheerleaders and jocks who had always laughed at her wispy dresses and hemp headbands.

Liv took a deep breath, not really wanting to their conversation to escalate into a full-blown argument but she knew that there was only one thing she could say that would end it, even if it didn't end well. When he still didn't comply, she realized it had become a necessity. She put aside her daydreams and spoke the only words she knew would anger or upset him enough to assent.

"Dean, I love you, but I'm going. And you can't stop me."

He looked up at her sharply, his eyes narrowed and his lips pursed together. She kept her features neutral, neither frowning nor smiling. She knew that his silence was precarious but she was determined to keep her focus.

"Aww, hell," he finally grumbled. "How long is the drive?"

* * *

Four days later, as they passed a large sign welcoming them to the state of Georgia, Dean was shoulder deep in a fugue of regret. He didn't know what was more frightening; the thought of Liv going out into the world, out of his protection, or the prospect of meeting her mother and stepfather. He knew that Liv had been living with her sister, not because she and her mother didn't get along but because she helped with her sister's children and felt more independent. Unfortunately, after she'd officially moved in with him, her sister had cleaned out her room and one of the older kids had moved in. That left them with only one option - Liv, Dean, and Sam, who had tagged along, were staying with Liv's parents. Dean was terrified.

He had even considered bowing out and sending Liv on her own in the Impala, leaving himself and Sam to take the bus back to the cabin, but he remembered how distressed he had been on their most recent hunt in Lily Dale. Sam had gone off on his own but, ironically, they'd ended up in the same town, working the same case. Dean was thrilled to have his brother back on his side, but he spent most of the trip worrying about Liv and agonizing over the terrible things that could be happening. He had called Bobby so many times that the older man had eventually blocked Dean's number. When they made it back Liv was fine, of course, but the stress and anxiety that had accompanied his time away from her made him absolutely certain that he wouldn't let it happen, again.

Which, unfortunately, left him there in the car, on the way to meet Liv's mother and stepfather. Dean couldn't remember ever meeting a girlfriend's parents. Given the choice between continuing on to Georgia and returning to hell for another forty years of service, he wasn't entirely sure which he'd choose.

The Impala cruised along at a steady 60MPH. He glanced over and couldn't help smiling. Liv was leaning back in the passenger's seat. Her legs were stretched out, crossed at the ankle, and her feet were resting on the dashboard. He knew that no one else in the world could get away with putting their feet all over his car. Her toes were painted bright blue and decorated with tiny, white stars. She was wearing his Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt and a pair of short, blue jean cut-offs. Her worn sandals were on the floor in front of her, tumbled together with her bag, a sweater, three or four books, and who knows what else. She was reading one of Sam's books on Greek mythology. Several curls that had escaped her messy bun were twisting around her face and neck. Absently, she pushed them aside, but they kept blowing back out of place.

Sam himself was curled up in the backseat, sleeping with his arms folded tightly across his chest. Dean was glad he'd joined them; he was sure that a little bit of brotherly support would be instrumental in getting through the next week.

Dean reached over to rest a hand on one of Liv's thighs and squeezed, gently. She looked at him and smiled before pushing her glasses up onto the top of her head, finally trapping the few loose strands of hair in place.

"Want me to drive a little bit?" Liv asked.

"Nah, I'm good," he answered and reached up to stroke her chin with his thumb. Her bruises were gone; the swelling around her eyes had vanished. After weeks of healing, he could look at her and almost pretend it had never happened.

Liv smiled. "Okay, if you change your mind, let me know."

"It's not much farther, is it?" he asked.

Liv lowered her legs and leaned forward, peering through the windshield. "Nope, maybe another forty minutes or so. How are you doing?" She smiled up at him and took his hand in hers.

"Nervous as hell," he laughed, shaking his head. "I've faced down vampires, werewolves, wendigos, you name it. But, meeting your mom scares the hell outta me."

Liv tightened her fingers around his hand. "You don't need to be scared. She's harmless, I promise. She'll like you," she said, reassuringly.

Dean frowned. He wasn't really afraid of Liv's mother not liking him; being honest with himself, he really wasn't sure what he was afraid of, at all. He'd gone over several scenarios in his head throughout their three day drive and, while none of them were desirable, none of them involved him being disliked, exactly.

"You don't know that, for sure," he said.

Liv sighed. "Yes, I do. I know my mom and I know she'll like you. She's like me; she's different. She likes people who are different, too."

"But, what are we gonna talk about?" he asked, trying not to sound whiney. "What if she asks what I do for a living?"

"I already told her you're a mechanic and she was thrilled to hear it. She said something about never having to pay anyone to change my oil, ever again."

Dean frowned.

"What? What's that face all about?" Liv asked, wrinkling her nose.

He shrugged and shook his head. "I dunno," he said. "I guess I feel like you deserve better than a mechanic. Better than a hunter, actually. I'm afraid she'll take one look at me and know I'm not a good guy."

Liv hopped up on her knees and inched closer to him. He slowed the car to a safer 45MPH and divided his attention between her and the stretch of straight, even road ahead.

"Listen to me, Dean Winchester. You are the strongest, bravest, most honorable man I've ever met. You put yourself in danger for people you don't even know. You protect the innocent, no matter who they are or what they've done, and you dedicate yourself to eradicating evil from this world. The very first time I looked into your eyes, I knew you were a good person. The best person. That's why I'm in love with you. And, my mom will see that. She might not know you, yet, but she knows me and she knows that if I truly love you, and she'll see how much I love you, that you must be a pretty great guy. Okay?" Dean felt his heart warm at hearing her words. Her opinion had always meant the world to him, and to hear her voice her thoughts on his character was more encouraging than he imagined it would be.

He slowed the car even more, until it was idling on the side of the road. They were surrounded by field after field of peach trees and the air was sweet with their nectar. Other than their car, there were no other vehicles in sight, in either direction.

"You know, if that's really how you feel about me then I guess it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks," he said.

Liv wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close for a long, lazy kiss. Dean felt the warm breeze whirl through the open windows, ruffling his hair, and bringing with it the sweet aroma of the ripe peaches. The taste of her lips, paired with that scintillating scent, was arousing and invigorating to all of his senses. He slid his arms around her waist and pulled her closer, fully enveloped in the sensation of her body pressed against his.

Dean had nearly lost himself when their kiss was interrupted by a quiet cough from the backseat. Liv pulled away and returned to her seat, pressing her lips together. Her cheeks were bright pink.

"So, umm… Are we almost there?" Sam asked, awkwardly.

Dean slammed the gear shift into drive and sped away from the side of the road, tires squealing behind them.

"Yeah, almost," he growled, trying to decide whether Liv would let him leave his brother on the side of the road.

* * *

"Come in, come in!" the woman called, beckoning them with her thin, heavily ringed fingers. She looked astoundingly like an older version of Liv, but with shorter, greying hair. She was much more slender and might have been an inch or two taller but otherwise, Liv bore an incredibly striking resemblance to her mother. Anne Carrigan was a beautiful woman, Dean couldn't deny it.

Gary Carrigan, Liv's step-father, was tall and dark-skinned with closely cropped hair. He spoke with a smooth, deep voice that immediately commanded Dean's respect and reverence.

"Please, come in, guys. Welcome to our home," Gary said. He reached out and shook first Dean's hand and then Sam's. His grip was firm but not intimidating. Dean tried to apply just the right amount of pressure but felt certain that he'd held on just a half a second too long. Gary didn't comment but smiled warmly. His teeth were bright white in contrast with his dark skin.

"Hello, sir. Ma'am," Sam said, politely, after accepting a hug from Anne.

"Mom, Gary, this is Sam," Liv said, gesturing toward him. "He's probably my best friend, these days. And this," she said, smiling broadly, "is Dean."

"Ooooooh, so this is the amazing Dean," Anne said, grinning. Dean saw that her teeth were a bit larger than Liv's, and she had a narrow space between the top, front two. He found it endearing.

"Yep, I guess that's me," he said and laughed, nervously.

Anne gathered him into her arms and hugged him, tightly around the waist. He tried to reciprocate but wasn't entirely sure where to put his arms.

"Aren't you a handsome son of a gun?" Anne asked him and patted his cheek with one hand. She linked arms with him and pulled him further into the foyer. "Come on, let's go sit down and chat. Come on, everybody," she called behind her.

The foyer was enormous, far larger than Dean thought a simple entryway should ever be. A huge staircase went straight up and split in two, opposite directions. To the right, he could see a large room, filled with comfortable looking furniture and about a million old books. To the right was a dining room with a table that seated no less than twenty people. He realized then that Liv's parents were wealthy, and couldn't help feeling a little mad at her for not warning him.

Anne led him past the living room and down a brightly lit hallway into another room that he would have also called a living room. It had couches, chairs, a television screen that he sincerely hoped to watch some football on, and more shelves full of movies and video games. It was connected to the kitchen, which was extremely shiny and clean but cluttered with appliances and other odds and ends. There was a large island in the middle with several stools and a table with six chairs around it. Anne pulled him to the table and sat him in one of the chairs. Liv followed closely behind and sat beside him, smiling supportively.

"Can I get you boys some coffee?" Gary asked. He was holding a tray with the coffee pot and five mugs, along with a bowl of raw sugar and a pitcher of cream.

"Oooh, yes, please!" Liv exclaimed and hurried over to help him carry it to the table.

Dean looked around the room, taking in the wide windows that filled one entire wall, the patio that was just on the other side and appeared to circle the house, the swimming pool with a diving board and slide. He was overwhelmed. This was a kind of living to which he'd never been exposed. He remembered that Liv had told her mother he was a mechanic and was filled with a burning embarrassment that he didn't understand or appreciate.

"I'd love some," Sam answered and nudged Dean under the table.

Dean jumped but looked up and nodded. "Yes, thank you."

"Sugar?" Anne asked.

"No, thanks. We both take it black," Dean answered and accepted the mug that she passed toward him. It had a map of Hawaii on it, and a message that read 'Mahalo from beautiful Kauai'. Hawaii, for God's sake. Dean took a swallow and nearly choked on the steaming liquid. A few drops slipped onto the marble table.

"You okay, babe?" Liv whispered as Anne hurried over to the kitchen counter to collect a towel.

Dean nodded, shortly. "Yeah, I'm fine. Why didn't you tell me your parents were billionaires?"

"They aren't billionaires," Liv began but was cut off when Anne returned and settled into her chair on the other side of Dean.

"How was the drive down?" Anne asked as she stirred two teaspoons of sugar and a healthy helping of cream into her coffee. Liv took hers the same, Dean realized.

"It was great," Sam answered. "The peaches make everything smell really nice. Very summery."

"Oh, you drove through the fields?" Anne asked. "Doesn't it just make you want to drink a whole pitcher of daiquiris?"

Liv nodded, but didn't look away from Dean's face. He knew he probably looked stressed, or agitated, and he was trying to hide it.

"I wonder if you drove through any of ours," Gary added. He had pulled out one of the tall stools and was half sitting, half leaning against it.

"Yours?" Sam asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Oh, yeah, Gary's family has been in the peach business for years," Anne said.

Which explained the wealth, Dean thought to himself.

"It's a great business, especially this time of year," Gary said, proudly.

Dean listened to them all make small talk for several agonizing minutes, but he couldn't join in. It felt like his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth. Every time he looked around the room, he felt even more uncomfortable and out of his element. After what felt like forever, he realized that Liv had been staring at him with a concerned expression.

"Hey, Mom, I'm pretty tired and I'm sure Dean is, too. He drove almost the whole way. I think I'm gonna take him upstairs so he can take a nap before dinner," she said.

"Yeah, I'm pretty beat," Dean added, lamely.

Anne jumped up and hustled them out of the kitchen. "Sure, sure. Take him up to your room, Livvie. I'll show Sam where he can sleep in one of the downstairs spare rooms. That way he'll have a door to the patio. You'll love it, we have the most beautiful oleanders and you can smell them, even in your bathroom," Anne went on and on, herding Sam down the hallway until Dean couldn't hear her. One of the downstairs spare bedrooms. One of them. Which meant there was more than one. And a private bathroom, in a spare bedroom? How many bathrooms did the place have? he wondered.

"Alright, what's going on?" Liv asked, after she'd pulled him through a set of double doors. The room they'd entered was enormous, with a huge king-sized bed on one side and a couch on the other. The bed was covered with an enormous, floral quilt and about a thousand pillows. The couch was flanked by matching bookcases that were crammed full of books and trinkets. The room smelled like her.

"What's going on?" he demanded, looking around the room. "You have a couch in your bedroom! A couch! Who needs a fucking couch in the bedroom; you have a BED, in case you hadn't noticed!"

"So what?" Liv asked. "There's a couch, big deal. There's also an armchair in my bathroom."

"You have your own bathroom! With a chair in it!"

"Well, it's so you can sit in front of the fireplace, if you want." Liv shrugged.

Dean's eyes popped open even wider. "A fire place in the bathroom?"

Liv frowned. "Are you mad at me because my parents live in a big house? It's not like it's a mansion."

Dean sighed. He wasn't mad, but he was unnerved. And he had to admit, she was right. It was a big house but it wasn't Rockefeller big. Also, nothing was gold-plated or fancy; everything in the house was very nice but it was all comfortable and homey. He liked it

"No, baby, I'm not mad. I just wish you'd warned me. And maybe told your mom I was something more… impressive."

Liv giggled. "Like what? A physicist? An engineer? Heir to the throne of Portugal? You're perfect just the way you are and she doesn't care what you do, anyway." She leaned against him and rested her hands on his shoulders.

"I'm sorry," he said and pressed his forehead against hers. "I'm being an asshole, I know."

"You just need to get out of your own head. Have fun. This is a vacation, remember?"

Dean nodded and kissed the crown of her head. "Alright, I'll relax." He shook his arm sat his sides and planted a kiss on her cheek.

"Okay, good." She walked over to the bed and hopped up onto it, disappearing beneath the mound of pillows. "Naptime?" she called out, her voice muffled by the mountain of stuffing between them.

"Nope," Dean answered, staring at the pillows with a mischievous smirk. If he was going to relax, he had decided he was going to do it right. "Pillowfight time!" He shouted and bounded toward the bed.

Liv's head popped out from behind the heap and she cackled. She grabbed one of the pillows and flung it at him. He easily dodged it and leapt onto the bed, sending her bouncing into the air.

"I've never seen this much ammunition," he shouted, collecting four or five pillows which he hurled at her, one by one.

Liv shrieked and reached up to block them before they smashed into her face. Dean hurtled toward her, tossing pillows as quickly as he could snatch them up.

"Is everything okay in here?" a voice called from the doorway. Dean looked up and saw Anne watching them with a quizzical smile playing at her lips.

Liv's suddenly appeared on the side of the bed and nodded.

"We're fine, Mom!" she called, her voice quavering with laughter.

"Alright, don't mind me," Anne said, chuckling. "Just checking."

"Sorry, ma'am," Dean offered. As she pulled the door shut, he took advantage of Liv being distracted and launched a small, decorative pillow at the side of her head. It slammed into her head, full-force, and sent her toppling to the floor with a resounding thump.

* * *

Dean was surprisingly pleased with dinner. It was simple and basic; steak, baked potatoes, and roasted asparagus. He'd never really liked vegetables but the asparagus was great. He suspected it was heavily coated in butter and salt but it tasted phenomenal and he finished every bite.

Summer was definitely taking over Georgia and the sun was still shining brightly when they retired to the patio to eat at one of the large, outdoor tables. Liv's sister, Evelyn, and her four kids had shown up sometime during his nap. When he woke, they were all in the swimming pool and Liv had joined them. After borrowing a pair of Gary's swimming trunks, Sam had, as well. They ate dinner in their bathing suits, drops of water pooling beneath their chairs and Sam and the kids had immediately returned to the water. Liv sat next to Dean in a lounge chair, where the warmth of the sun was drying her black, crocheted bikini. She had closed her eyes to the brightness and he thought she might have fallen asleep.

Liv's sister, Evelyn, also looked like their mother, but her skin was darker and Dean quickly realized that Gary was her biological father. At some point, he'd assumed that Evelyn was older than Liv but, when he asked, Anne explained that Liv was actually three years older.

"She's just more mature," Liv added, drowsily, and laughed.

"I'm really not," Evelyn said. "I just had kids so people think I am. Really, I have no idea what I'm doing."

"They're great kids, by the way," Dean said. He was stretched out on one of the chairs with a glass of scotch in one hand and Liv's thigh beneath the other. He had shed his outer layers and ended up in his jeans and t-shirt. He'd even put aside his boots and socks.

"Thanks," Evelyn said. "They really are. They can be a handful, though. Liv's great with them; I miss having her around!"

Dean could hear the question in her voice, or suspected he did. She was wondering about Liv being away, wondering when she might come back. Or maybe she wasn't. He'd had quite a bit of Gary's expensive scotch and didn't completely trust his instincts.

Liv didn't respond to the comment so Dean didn't feel compelled to, either. He watched Sam frolicking in the pool with the kids. They loved him and were taking turns begging him to toss them into the water. Dean wasn't surprised. Kids always loved Sam, probably because he was just a big kid himself. Dean smiled, imagining what a great father Sam would have been. It made him sad to think that it probably wouldn't happen.

"Can I fill your glass?" Anne asked him, interrupting his thoughts.

Dean looked down and saw that only a sliver of the amber liquid remained.

"Oh, no, I got it. Thanks," he said and pushed himself up out of the chair. "Be right back, darlin'," he said, smiling down at Liv. She nodded but didn't open her eyes.

Back in the sitting room off of the kitchen, Dean found the shelf with the liquor. The bottles sat on a silver tray with a small container of ice. He took his time filling his glass, scanning the shelves. There were so many books, he didn't think he'd ever be able to read them all in his lifetime. There were pictures, too. Pictures of Liv and Evelyn at all ages, dressed in everything from colorful gowns to muddy jeans and windbreakers. There was one embarrassing photograph of Anne, topless, which he tried to avoid looking at once he realized what it was. He smiled at the photos, glancing at each of them and imagining how vibrant Liv's life must have been. When his gaze fell on one picture, unframed and tucked to the side of a paperweight in the shape of a brass eagle, he paused.

The girl in the photograph was Liv, it had to be. Her freckles, her unruly hair, her amber colored eyes. But the boy next to her was a mystery. Dean plucked the picture from its place, almost hidden, and peered more closely at it. The boy's resemblance to Liv was solid; he had to be somehow related.

Dean was so engrossed in the picture that he didn't hear Gary enter and jumped when the man finally spoke.

"Did you find the scotch?"

Dean quickly regained his composure and looked up, smiling graciously. "I sure did. Never takes me long to find a good scotch, especially when it's free," he said.

Gary took a few steps closer and looked at the picture Dean held. His smile slowly disappeared. "Where did you find that?" he asked.

Dean frowned. "It was right here on the shelf. I'm sorry; I wasn't trying to be nosy. But… I was wondering…"

"You were wondering who the boy is, right?"

Dean nodded.

Gary took the photograph from him and stared at it, thoughtfully.

"That's Oliver. Liv's brother," he finally said.

"Brother?" Dean asked. "Liv never mentioned a brother."

"That doesn't surprise me," Gary said. "They were twins, actually. Oliver died when they were only three, right before I met Anne. I never met Oliver."

Dean was shocked. Liv had told him so much about her life, everything, but she'd left out this one, huge detail. He couldn't believe it.

"How did he die?" Dean asked, and then stopped himself. "I'm sorry, that was rude."

Gary shrugged him off. "No, it's fine. Honestly, I don't know how he died. No one really knows. Anne told me about it once. I could tell how difficult it was for her to talk about. I've never asked about it since then."

Dean nodded. "What did she tell you?"

Gary let out a heavy sigh. "It doesn't really make sense but nothing about what happened does. She told me Liv and Oliver were sitting in their playpen. They were fighting over something… a bottle or a cup of juice, something like that. Anne made Liv give it to Oliver and went into the kitchen to get another one, so they wouldn't have to share. When she came back, Oliver was lying on the ground, not breathing. She called for help but it was too late. He was dead before the paramedics even showed up."

"Didn't they do an autopsy? Wouldn't they have to?" Dean asked. His eyebrows furrowed together in his confusion and distress.

Gary nodded. "They sure did. Couldn't find anything. His little heart just stopped beating."

Dean had a million more questions but he couldn't think of a way to ask any of them without sounding like a hunter, or an insensitive asshole. He only stared at the picture of Liv, or Olivia, and her twin brother, Oliver. The little boy she had never mentioned; the little boy who looked so much like her, down to the freckles across the bridge of his nose.


	21. Chapter 21

**Thank you guys for the nice reviews and all the new follows and favorites! I'm really excited with where things are going for Liv and I know I can't wait to see her start kicking some butt so I hope you guys feel the same! It's coming soon! Reviews are always, always appreciated, even criticisms! Thanks, again!**

* * *

"You literally _just_ got back from Missouri!" Liv protested. She was tired of watching him pack his bags, tired of watching him and Sam drive away, tired of never knowing when he'd be back.

Dean tossed another shirt into the duffel bag and didn't respond. She could see how tense and tight his jaw was. He always packed like an idiot but she wasn't going to help him; she was too angry to care about wrinkled flannels and how quickly he'd run out of underpants.

"Why can't I come along?" she whined. She fiddled with one of the pillows; the pillowcase was frayed along the edges and she was only making it worse, pulling and tugging on the loose strings until they fell away from the fabric.

He stopped packing long enough to glare at her. "You sound like a three year old," he said, grimly.

Liv's eyebrows raised in anger and disbelief. "A three year old?" she questioned, unable to mask her annoyance.

"Yeah, a three year old. A little kid. A _whiny_ little kid," he answered. He had stopped packing entirely and was staring at her with his hands on his hips.

"I sound like a little kid because I'm tired of you leaving?" she said. Her tone was immeasurably more imposing than her stature.

Dean nodded, rapidly. "Exactly."

Liv stood slowly, her eyes narrowing. She was fuming, internally, but struggled to remain calm and poised, on the outside.

"Okay, Dean, let me get this straight." Dean stopped nodding, abruptly and took a few steps back. "You've been back for two days and now, in the middle of this whole leviathan disaster, you're planning a nice, brotherly-bonding trip to Vegas with Sam, which I'm not invited to, probably because you're planning on spending the entire time in various strip clubs and bars, chasing tail that I'm sincerely hoping you don't intend to catch, and you're saying I'm acting like a little kid because I'm pissed off about it? Meanwhile, I get to hang out here in this piece of shit cabin that smells like mold and pine sol, on house arrest for the rest of my life because you and Bobby are convinced I'm going to be abducted and killed the second I come into contact with the outside world. Is that right? Are we on the same page?"

As she spoke, her voice grew louder and more hostile. Her fists were balled up, the knuckles white from exertion. It grew harder and harder to stay calm and, by the time she finished, her voice quavered with the effort.

Dean's hands dropped from his waist and hung, limply, at his sides. His eyes widened and his face became blank. She couldn't tell what he was thinking, but he seemed to have finally grasped the implications of his actions.

"Well, when you put it that way…" he began but, in that instant, she had jumped away from the bed and was standing in front of him. The top of her head barely reached his shoulders but he backed away again, his eyes popping open even further.

Liv reached up and, with the tip of her right, index finger, poked him furiously in the chest, several times.

"Hey! Stop that; that hurts!" Dean said, his face scrunching up in annoyance. "Hey - ow!"

Liv didn't stop. "You, Dean Winchester, are a real dick," she said, emphasizing each word with another jab of her finger. She would have punched him instead, but knew she'd only end up hurting herself.

After a full minute of them staring at either other, neither backing down, Liv scowled and stormed past him. "I'm going to talk to Sam," she said, darkly.

* * *

Sam was no help.

"Things have been crazy," he said. "Dean needs to get away for a little while."

Liv frowned. "Away from me, you mean?"

He shook his head, smiling kindly at her. "No, that's not what I mean. He needs to get away from everything. Besides, it's tradition; it's important to him."

Liv tapped her fingertips on the table. They were sitting in the kitchen, each with a mug of hot coffee in front of them. Molly, who had healed beautifully from her injuries, sat on the floor between them, basking in their attention. They each kept reaching down to stroke the dogs head or chin. Liv knew that, while she was still Molly's favorite person, Sam was an extremely close second.

After a moment of consideration, Liv groaned and lowered her head to the table top. "He was right; I _am_ being whiny, aren't I?"

Sam laughed and patted her hand.

"Nah, you're fine. You put up with a lot of shit, more than any other chick would, I bet. And not just from him, from all of us."

"You'll keep an eye on him, won't you?" Liv asked, peering up at him.

"Of course. But you know you don't have anything to worry about, right?" Sam said, gently.

Liv shrugged. "I know, but still."

"Listen, if it makes you feel any better, I won't take my eyes off him. Deal?"

"Deal," she said, finally able to smile.

* * *

Liv slumped back onto the hard, dusty couch and settled in for her fourth viewing, since the boys had been gone, of her favorite movie _30 Days of Night_. Bobby watched part of it with her, the first time, but kept laughing at the inaccuracies and she finally had to send him away. Molly stayed, curled up at Liv's feet, and snuck pieces of microwave popcorn as they fell from the bowl on the coffee table. Liv loved the movie, and found it comforting, even as she burst into tears each time she witnessed the brave hero reduced to ash in the final moments, dying in his loving wife's arms as the sun rose.

She was actually considering a new movie, maybe Dawn of the Dead, when her cell phone chirped. After a few frantic moments of searching, and eventually finding it lodged between a back cushion and the arm of the couch, she was able to read the message, which was from Dean. He had been calling and texting faithfully, as had Sam, to assure her that they were both alright and neither had ended up in jail.

 _How's it going?_ the message read. Liv smirked, and debated telling him that things had gone to hell and she was chained to a wall but, thankfully, realized how tasteless it would be. Instead, she told him things were still fine, that Bobby was out running some errands for another hunter and that she missed him terribly. After he confirmed that he, too, was counting the moments til they saw each other again, she dropped her phone on the table and leaned back to watch her movie.

Not five minutes later, her phone beeped again. This time, the message was from Sam. He was doing great as well and he promised that Dean was behaving. Liv chuckled when she texted him back, asking if he had met any cute girls. Sam responded saying no, but he had run into a young lady from his past who he was trying to avoid. Liv felt a bit of sympathy for the girl, knowing how easy it was to fall for the charming, handsome, frighteningly masculine Winchester brothers, but she knew that Sam would let her down easy. He was almost too nice.

When Sam messaged that he was going to get he and Dean a couple drinks and that he would talk to her later, Liv re-situated herself on the couch and pressed play on the remote.

She had only gotten through another five minutes, the vampires hadn't even shown up yet, when a heavy knocking at the door interrupted her. Molly barked halfheartedly in response.

Liv groaned and rolled off of the couch, letting her blanket drop. The wood floor was cold on her bare feet as she padded toward the door.

"What's wrong, Bobby, lost your key?" she giggled. The door didn't have any lock to speak of but the cabin was so heavily warded that it didn't matter. Liv was no longer frightened of human predators; Dean had shown her how to use a gun and she knew all of the seventy or so hidden stashes in the building.

She only had a second to wonder why Bobby was back so early as she pulled open the door, and was about to ask him if he'd cut his trip short, when she realized that someone else stood on the other side of the threshold.

"Oh," Liv said, shortly.

"Hello, darling," Crowley answered, a wide grin spreading across his face. "May I come in?"

Liv was almost mesmerized by his eyes; they were mischievous but didn't seem evil in the slightest. She knew she shouldn't invite him in, didn't think it even really mattered, but it seemed rude not to. And she wasn't afraid of him, inexplicably.

"Yes, of course," she said, stepping away from the doorway.

"The wards," he said, motioning around the door frame. "Do you know how to remove them?"

Liv shook her head, apologetically. "No, I'm sorry."

Crowley shrugged and took a step back. "No worries. Perhaps we can sit on the porch together and chat?"

"Sure," Liv said. She looked down at the border between the inside of the house and the front porch before taking the step that would lead her outside, beyond the protection of Bobby's wards. A small part of her knew she was being foolish, but the rest of her couldn't help feeling unafraid and only curious. "What did you want to talk about?"

Crowley walked toward the porch swing and motioned for her to sit. Rather than join her, he leaned back against the railing and crossed one ankle over the other. Liv lowered herself onto the seat of the swing and pulled her knees up, wrapping her arms around them.

"Olivia, my dear, I'd like to talk about you."

Liv smiled, hesitantly. "What about me?"

Crowley eyed her, guardedly. Liv wished she knew what he was thinking but he masked all emotion. "You're a special girl, aren't you?"

She narrowed her eyes, uncertain and suspicious of what he was implying. "Special how?"

He crossed his arms over his chest and smiled down at her. "I sense something… something anomalous about you."

Liv frowned, unsure of whether or not she should be offended. "There's nothing wrong with me…"

"Oh, no, not at all," Crowley said, boisterously. "There is absolutely nothing wrong about what I see in you. On the contrary, I think you're an amazing individual."

"I don't really know why you would think that but thanks," Liv said. She still had no idea what their chat was about or where he was going with his odd compliments.

"No, I don't suppose you know or understand why I'm drawn to your… aura."

He didn't continue and she didn't know what to say in response; it was such an odd comment. Finally, she could bear the silence no more. "I'm sorry, Mr. Crowley, I'm just really confused. Is there something I can do for you?"

"I'd like to talk about your brother," Crowley said, interrupting her.

Liv shut down immediately. She didn't like talking about Oliver, hated it even. She had always felt like something was missing from her life and she knew, without a doubt, it was caused by the loss of her twin brother. She didn't remember him dying but she remembered HIM, being with him and feeling complete.

"Why?" she asked, her voice monotone and flat.

"You were just a child when he died, weren't you?" Crowley asked, ignoring her question.

Liv nodded.

"And the death was ruled as natural. Cardiac arrest, if I'm not mistaken?"

Liv nodded, again. She had seen the death certificate.

"You were the only person present at the time, isn't that right?" Crowley continued in a cautious tone.

"My mom was there," Liv said. She stared down at her knees.

Crowley nodded and pressed his palms together at his chest. "But, she'd stepped out. So, it was just you and little Oliver. Yes?"

"I guess so," Liv answered.

Crowley was quiet for another moment, but Liv didn't break the silence, again. She was too lost in the few, disjointed memories she still had of her brother. She jumped when Crowley spoke again.

"Do you remember anything about his death, anything at all?"

Liv looked up at him, trying to discern what any of this had to do with him and why he would even care. "No, I don't remember anything. Why?"

Crowley shrugged and shook his head. "Curiosity, darling. Nothing more."

"How do you know about Oliver?" Liv asked.

He smiled. "I know everything about you, Olivia. I've been studying you; you're my new project."

Liv laughed, briefly forgetting her ennui. "Why on earth would you be interested in my boring life?"

"But your life is anything but boring. I'd like to learn everything about you. In fact, that's why I've come. I have a question to ask you."

"What question?"

Crowley stepped away from the railing and kneeled before her, taking her hands in his. Liv was surprised by how warm his fingers felt.

"Would you like to come and live with me, Olivia?"

She laughed at his question but froze when she saw the significance in his eyes.

"You're serious?" she asked.

"I am. I'd like to you come and stay at my castle, where I can learn more about you."

Liv's eyebrows cocked, dramatically. "Your castle? Of course, you have a castle…" She shook her head.

"I can keep you safe, Olivia. Dean can't do that, but I can. This world is about to get extremely dangerous, far more dangerous than they can handle. But, I can," he continued, emphasizing each word.

"That's really, very nice of you, Mr. Crowley. And I appreciate the offer, I honestly do, but I don't think it's a very good idea…" Liv stood slowly, inching away from him and toward the door. She still wasn't afraid, but she was uneasy. Whatever she had initially expected from his visit, it wasn't an invitation to live in a castle while he studied her like a thesis and leviathan took over the world.

Crowley laughed as she tiptoed away from him. "Olivia, darling, I can't make you come with me, unfortunately. If you choose to stay here in this ramshackle box as it threatens to fall down around you, I can't change your mind or force you to do otherwise, as much as I'd like to. But I implore you to please, at least consider my offer, won't you?"

Liv believed him, as crazy as it sounded, but she believed he wouldn't take her against her will.

"I'll think about it," she said, not meaning it but wanting the conversation to end. Talking about Oliver was emotionally draining. All she wanted to do was lie down on the couch and finish her movie.

"That's all I ask," Crowley said and bowed.

"It was nice talking to you, again," she said, falsely, as she reached the door and pushed it open.

"Always my pleasure," he answered. Liv looked down at the door handle for only a fraction of a second but when she looked up, he was gone.


	22. Chapter 22

**Hey, guys! So this one ended up a little long... Sorry about that! Anyway, hope you enjoy and thanks for all the new follows and the awesome reviews!**

* * *

"What?!" Liv shouted into her phone. "He did what?"

In the kitchen, Bobby looked up suddenly from his newspaper. "What the hell's going on?" he asked, loudly.

Liv held up one index finger and waved him away. "Why would he do that? What is he thinking?"

"I have no fuckin' clue, Liv. I mean, this chick is nuts, literally nuts, and he's acting like she's Helen of Troy. You should see the way he looks at her. It's bizarre," Dean answered. Liv thought he sounded dazed and perhaps was in shock.

"How long has he known her?" she asked. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. She was definitely pissed at Sam for leaving Dean on his own in Vegas, but that would have to wait. This outrageous notion that he'd gone and gotten married trumped all of her anger.

She heard Dean sigh before answering. "I dunno, a year or so? But we only met her once and she's a lunatic; she's obsessed with him. She read all the books and memorized every word."

"What books?" Liv interjected. She'd never heard him mention any books; she didn't think she'd ever seen him read anything except newspapers and maybe Maxim.

There was silence from Dean's end and she wondered if the line had been disconnected but he eventually answered in a cautious voice.

"Books about me and Sam, written by a prophet."

Liv snorted, derisively. "A prophet wrote books about you guys?"

When he didn't respond but sighed again, she swallowed the urge to laugh.

"Okay… We can talk about that later…" she finally responded. "Is it possible he's actually, like, in love with her?"

It was Dean's turn to laugh. She listened to him snicker for several seconds before he answered.

"No, no way. On his own, he'd never even talk to her. He was totally weirded out by her obsession with him. It's just not possible."

Liv chewed on her lower lip. Bobby stood nearby, having left the kitchen to watch her speak with Dean.

"So what are you gonna do?" she asked.

"I'm gonna keep close, get in his face. I think there's a case here, anyway. But, I think you should come out here."

"Really?!" Liv screeched into the phone.

"Alright, alright, relax. Don't bust my eardrums. Just get here quick, alright? You might be able to talk some sense into him," Dean said, impatiently.

"Vegas! I get to go to Vegas?!" Liv asked, gleefully.

"Nope, sorry darling, not Vegas. We're in Delaware, of all fucking places."

Liv frowned. Delaware? All of her excitement drained away in a second. "Well, alright. I guess I'll be there as soon as I can." Liv grumbled.

"Hey, at least you get to see me, right?" Dean said.

She shrugged. "Yeah, there's that. Alright, I'll start packing. Love you."

She hung up before he could respond.

"What the hell is going on?" Bobby asked, again, as she skipped into the bedroom she shared with Dean.

"Sam got married and I'm going to Delaware; I need you to drive me to the airport!" she called out to him.

Bobby just stood there, with his mouth hanging open, as she disappeared through the doorway to pack her bag.

* * *

"This is so exciting!" Liv exclaimed. The town itself was about as dull and boring as she'd expected, but being with Dean, and on a hunt, was enough to animate her. "Aren't you excited?"

"Not particularly," Dean said, sternly. "And, don't get too worked up. We have to get to Becky's place so we can talk to them about this case, alright?"

Liv frowned, but only for a second. Her smile quickly returned as she stared out the window. "Her name's Becky? That's a cute name. Is she cute?"

Dean wrinkled his nose. "She's eleven."

"What?!" Liv practically shouted.

"Okay, she's not eleven. But she looks like it," Dean answered, impatiently.

"You're not jealous that she's obsessed with Sam and couldn't be bothered with you, are you?" Liv teased.

Dean glared at her from the driver's seat and didn't even dignify her question with an answer.

Liv grinned, refusing to let him dampen her good spirits. "Where are we staying?" she asked, rummaging around in her shoulder bag.

"I've got a room in a motel about two miles from Becky's place."

"Don't you mean Becky _and Sam's_ place?" Liv asked. She turned in her seat and hopped up on her knees, reaching over the back of the seat for her larger duffel bag.

"No, I don't mean Becky _and Sam's_ place," Dean scowled. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm looking for my other shoe," she answered. "And, what's that for?" She tapped on the box that sat on the rear seat. She'd never seen Dean use any kitchen appliance, other than a microwave, and couldn't begin to fathom why he'd have a waffle iron in his car. There was an unopened roll of red ribbon next to it.

"It's for them. It's a wedding gift," Dean answered. She could hear the irritation in his voice. "How the hell does a person lose a shoe? Why isn't it on your foot?"

Liv slipped back into her seat with the missing shoe in her hands. "I don't know; it fell off."

Dean just shook his head in disbelief as he pulled into the parking lot of a small but clean apartment complex.

"Alright, listen. Don't talk to her too much until we find out what's going on. Just smile, be charming, stay close. Got it?"

After Liv promised to behave, replaced her shoe, and tied the ribbon around the box in a pretty bow, they got out of the old beater Dean had been driving and made their way to Becky's apartment building. There was a hand-painted, heart-shaped sign on the door which read, in pink letters, 'Love Lives Here'. Dean snorted and rolled his eyes at the sappy declaration but didn't comment. He knocked on the door with a heavy hand and stood back.

Liv heard solid footsteps approaching the door and recognized them as Sam's. When he opened the door, she saw the surprise on his face as he took in the sight of her and Dean.

"Me being supportive," Dean said, immediately, and thrust the box at his brother. "Congratulations to you and the missus."

"Congrats, Sam!" Liv exclaimed and stepped forward to embrace him. She had decided to be tentatively happy for him, at least until Dean figured out what was really going on.

"Thanks," Sam said, smiling.

"It's a waffle iron," Dean said. "Non-stick. Yeah, you just, uh…"

Dean made some odd gestures with his hands that Liv vaguely recognized as mimicking the use of a waffle iron. She patted his hands and tried to smile reassuringly.

"I don't actually know how to use it. Are we good?" he demanded.

Sam shrugged and smiled, but didn't say anything. Liv presumed he was no longer upset or angry and realized Dean must have as well because he kept talking.

"Good, cause I'm sniffing a case in this town. The score is… Guy wins powerball, gets squished by a truck. Second guy went from the bench to the majors. Oh, and one week later, his face was the catcher's mitt, huh?"

Dean and Liv followed Sam further into the apartment, past a small kitchen and a dining room set. The walls were all brightly colored, along with every other piece of furniture. It was definitely cute; it looked like someone named Becky would live there.

"Geez, Dean, relax a little bit," Liv murmured. Dean opened his mouth to respond but before he got a word out, they were interrupted by a sweet, perky, female voice.

"Our first thought was crossroads demons, but there's that ten year time frame on collecting souls."

Sam stepped to the side and Liv had a clear view of the bedroom, where a tiny woman stood before a wall, spattered with papers and clippings. As she turned toward them, Liv realized that Dean had been right; this woman was young, and could have passed for a teenager. She wasn't ugly; in fact, she was quite attractive, but Liv couldn't see Sam falling head over heels for her. Her energy was too lively and positive. She had mousy brown hair, blue eyes, and about a million freckles.

"Oh…" Becky began when she saw Liv. "Hello."

"Hi!" Liv said, cheerfully. "You must be Becky; I'm Liv." She stepped forward with her right hand extended. The two shook hands, very briefly, before Becky sidled up to Sam and slipped her arm into his elbow. Liv recognized the gesture for what it was; Becky was claiming him. She wondered what had happened to this girl that would make her so insecure; clearly Liv was with Dean, but Becky seemed to think she might be after Sam, as well.

"How do you know Sam and Dean?" Becky asked. "You aren't in the books."

Liv laughed, and tried to hide her relief. She'd been afraid of what this girl might know about her, what Becky might have read about her and Dean's relationship. It seemed there was nothing and Liv was thankful.

"I've been with Dean for a few months now. Sam and I are good friends." She put additional emphasis on the word 'friends', hoping Becky would relax but it didn't work. Becky's arm tightened around the crook of Sam's elbow and her smile faltered.

"That's so funny," Becky said. "He hasn't mentioned you."

Liv turned back to Dean, who cocked his eyebrows. "Strange," she finally answered, unsure of how to respond.

"Anyway," Becky began, with a bright, patronizing smile. "There's cursed objects, like in 'Bad Day at Black Rock' but we haven't been able to connect the vics yet."

Dean interrupted her. "You're working this case together?"

Sam, who had been looking quite sheepish, finally spoke up. "Yeah. I know, right? I mean, I guess all those Chuck Shurley books paid off."

Dean scowled and turned back to Becky, ignoring his brother. "Alright, listen, cookie - I don't know what kind of mojo you're working but, believe me, I will find out."

Sam took a step forward and held up one hand. "Dean, that's my wife you're talking to."

Dean exploded. "You're not even acting like yourself, Sam!"

"He's right," Liv added, thinking of how odd and downright crazy Sam had been in the previous months. He'd been angry and hostile, if not a little bit crazy, and now he seemed insanely happy and uncharacteristically upbeat. It was definitely very unnatural.

Becky shot Liv an angry, hateful glare which disappeared the second she redirected her attention to Sam.

"How am I not?" Sam demanded.

"You married Becky Rosen!" Dean shouted, throwing his hands up.

"What are you saying?" Becky interjected. "I'm a witch? Or maybe I'm a siren. Ever occur to you we're just… I don't know… happy?!"

Dean ignored her. "Come on, Sam! Guy wins the lotto, guy hits the bigs. Alright, obviously people's dreams are coming true in this town. Don't you think this is a little bit of a coincidence?"

"You know what, Dean? What Becky and I have is real. And if you can't accept that, that's your problem, not ours," Sam said.

"Or maybe she's part of it, because for whatever reason, you're her dream. If you really do care about her, I'd be worried. Because people who do get their little fantasies or whatever seem to end up dead pretty quick," Dean said, grimly. Liv stepped closer to him and slipped her right hand into his left. She could sense his anger and irritation; it was reaching momentous levels. Liv saw Becky's eyes narrow at their contact. In that moment, she realized why her presence was such an affront to the woman; Becky wasn't interested in Dean, her infatuation was thankfully limited to Sam, but she had staked a claim in their lives long ago and Liv's existence challenged her delusion. Becky wasn't in love with Dean, but his story belonged to her, all the same.

"You know, I went after her, Dean. Maybe that's what's bugging you - that I'm moving on with my life. I mean, you took care of me, and that's great. But I don't need you anymore. You found someone and I was happy for you - _am_ happy for you. Why can't you be happy for me?"

Dean's eyes clouded but he didn't say anything in response. He turned abruptly and stomped toward the door, pulling Liv along behind him. She smiled sympathetically at Sam but didn't speak; she knew it was their fight, their issue, and anything she said would either make it worse or be largely ignored.

* * *

"So who's this guy we're meeting?" Liv asked, casually, not wanting to bother him anymore than he already was. Dean was pissed about the mystery hunter; she knew he didn't want backup, especially not from someone he didn't know.

"I dunno, some guy Bobby sent," he answered as he held the door open for her.

The restaurant was busy; Liv hoped it meant the food was good. She followed Dean through the aisles, weaving past tables and booths. She saw him scan the building for someone who matched the general description of a hunter, but she recognized their target before Dean did.

"Oh, shit," she mumbled, under her breath.

"What?" Dean asked, immediately on the defensive. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said, resigning herself to the inevitable. "Hey, Garth…" she said, as they approached his table. Dean had been about to walk by, overlooking the scrawny man, but Liv knew it had to be him. It was just too much to be a coincidence. She cursed Bobby in her head and tried to smile.

"Hey, Liv," Garth drawled. "How you doin', girl?" His eyes crawled up and down her body and she desperately wished she'd changed out of her short sundress and into something more modest.

Dean cleared his throat, interrupting Garth's visual examination.

"Hey," he said. "You Dean?"

Dean sat down at the table and motioned for Liv to do the same. Garth watched her the entire time and she quickly snatched up a menu and held it open in front of her face. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment.

"I assume Bobby filled you in on the road," Dean said, gruffly. He was still oblivious to the awkward atmosphere.

"Uh, yeah," Garth began, redirecting his attention toward Dean. "He told me two things. One - he's tangling with a major league nest up in Oregon territory. Numero dos - he said you'd be all, uh, surly and premenstrual working with me. But hey man, sticks and stones."

Dean slid a newspaper across the table. "Think I found a case. Check the headline."

Garth picked up the paper and began rifling through it. "First thing's first." He stopped on a particular page and chuckled. "Oh, Marmaduke, you crazy!" he said.

Dean rolled his eyes and turned to Liv. "Are you hungry?"

"Yeah, they have great burgers here. I know how much you love burgers," Garth said, grinning at her. "By the way, why'd Bobby send you?"

Liv smiled awkwardly, her face still an unnatural shade of pink.

"Bobby _didn't_ send her," Dean said, his eyebrows furrowed. "Is somebody gonna tell me what the hell's going on here?"

Garth frowned, his eyes darting back and forth between them. "Wait, are you with this guy? I mean, _with_ him?"

Liv couldn't hold it in any longer; she had desperately hoped it would never come up but she was in literally the exact situation she'd always hoped to avoid. It was no use, though. She knew it was time to come clean.

"Alright, alright; I slept with Garth!" she finally blurted out, much louder than she'd planned to.

"What?!" Dean shouted.

A waitress hurried over to the table to make sure everything was okay. After she'd moved on, Liv began again.

"You had just broken up with me. I was scared and sad and lonely and he was my friend. I met him when Bobby had him check on me and Jodi when you were dealing with the leviathan. When you made me leave, I didn't want to go back to Georgia so I called Garth. It happened one time and it was an accident and I'm sorry but it's your fault!" She prattled on, glaring at Dean, accusingly. "It never would have happened if you hadn't sent me away, you jerk!"

When she was finished, she slumped back in her chair, miserable. Dean's mouth kept opening and closing, reminding her of a fish in a tank. Eventually, he was able to form words.

"You slept with _this_ dork?"

"Hey!" Garth exclaimed, frowning.

"I said it was an accident," Liv groaned.

"It didn't seem like an accident to me!" Garth interrupted.

Liv sighed. She hadn't meant to hurt his feelings. "No, you're right, it was intentional and it was very fun and I really appreciated it, honestly."

"What the hell?" Dean yelled, drawing the attention of the waitress, the bartender, and several other customers.

"It was a _fun accident_ ," Liv clarified, hoping that would appease both men. "Can we just go? I'm not hungry."

"I think that's a good idea," Dean said in a dangerously calm tone. "If you're sure you want to come home with me, that is."

Liv glared at him and stepped away from the table. Dean stood up and turned back to Garth.

"I'll call you when I have more information," he said, intensely.

Garth leaned back in his chair and nodded.

* * *

"Find out anything at the insurance agency?" Liv asked. She was lying on one of the beds with a copy of _Catcher in the Rye_ flipped open next to her. The binding was cracked and splintered from being left open so often but it was far from her favorite book so she didn't care. She found the narrator to be irritating and offensive but the writing always drew her in. She'd been reading for the better part of an hour when Dean stomped in, wearing his press suit and looking dashingly churlish, as always.

"Actually, yeah. It's a crossroads demon, that's for sure, but we still don't know why everyone's numbers are being called so early. Usually, they get ten years, sometimes more, but this Marsha, with an 'sha' not a 'cia', by the way, almost got smoked today and it's only been a week."

Liv watched him kick off his pleather, black dress shoes and slip out of the slightly-less-professional blazer that he wore when posing as press. His black suit jacket, his FBI jacket, was more stream-lined and well-tailored.

"Did Garth go with you?" She saw him wince when the other hunter's name left her lips but she refused to feel guilty. She knew that he'd been with other women during their month-long hiatus and she never held it against him; it wasn't fair for him to be angry at her.

Her time with Garth had been extremely short - two nights to be exact, and only one where anything salacious happened. She had been heartbroken and lonely and he was friendly and amiable. They went out for dinner, watched a movie, and he offered her his couch. The first night, she had cried herself to sleep in his living room, surrounded by Van Halen posters and the scent of old Cheetos and Mountain Dew. The second night, she'd had a few beers and ended up beside him in his twin bed. Neither of them expected it, and neither had any delusions that it would happen, again. She snuggled with him through the night, feeling uncomfortably like she'd just taken advantage of a fourteen year old, and left before he woke the following morning, expecting to never see him, again.

"Yeah, he almost got us kicked out of the building. Fuckin' idiot," Dean growled, tossing his jacket onto the second bed with more force that she thought was necessary.

"But, he didn't right? You got everything sorted out?" Liv rubbed her toes together and nibbled on her lower lip. He was still mad, whether it was fair or not.

Dean nodded and started unbuttoning his shirt.

"So, what happens now?" she asked.

"Now, I take a shower, maybe have a nap, then I'm going back out to try and track down the bastard that's making deals and breaking them." Dean stopped and sat on the bed, facing her. He looked haggard and exhausted; she knew he hadn't been sleeping and thought it had more to do with Sam than the case.

Liv slid to the edge of the bed and turned to face him. He was staring down at his hands, held together loosely between his knees.

"You're worried about him?" she asked, knowing the answer.

"Yeah, I'm worried. I think Becky must have made a deal; Sam would never have married her, otherwise. I don't want him getting caught up in her mess."

Liv reached over and took one of his hands but he pulled it away. She frowned at him and leaned closer.

"Are you really that mad at me?" she asked.

Dean shook his head and leaned back onto the bed, kicking his legs up. He lay on his back with his arms crossed behind his head.

"No, I'm not mad. I just don't get it. Why?" he asked. She didn't need him to elaborate; she knew what he was asking about.

Liv stood and tiptoed over to the other bed, where he was lying. She crawled onto it, and then onto him, straddling his waist. He frowned up at her but didn't push her away.

"I don't know. I was really sad. I thought you and I were done; I thought I'd never see you, again. Why does anybody rebound? He was nice to me," she said, leaning down so that her face was just inches from his. "Why are you so upset about it?"

Dean lowered his hands from the pillow and brought them to her thighs. She felt the ice melt between them as his fingers trailed up from her knees to her hips.

"I don't know. I'm not worried or anything. I guess I'm jealous? I've never been jealous before…" he said, thoughtfully.

Liv pressed her lips against his and reached up to fiddle with the buttons he'd left closed on his shirt. She tugged them apart, one by one, until the shirt lay open on either side of his torso. She traced the outline of his tattoo before lowering her mouth to do the same with the tip of her tongue. Strands of her hair trickled over his bare chest and stomach. Dean groaned and his fingers dug into the small of her back.

"That month was torture for me, even before I ended up in that hole. I kept wondering if I'd ever hear your voice, again. I called Bobby at least a dozen times before he told me I needed to buck up, move past it, and get on with my life. But, I couldn't. It was like losing a piece of my heart. How could I move on after that?" she asked. As she spoke, her lips brushed across his skin and her fingers danced down, past his naval, to the trail of soft, downy hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his trousers. She fumbled with the button for a few seconds before finally finagling it open, along with the zipper.

"I'm sorry," he said. He'd apologized before for what happened but she could hear the regret in his tone. "I didn't want you to go. I wanted to tell you that I loved you, too, but I was so scared. I fucked up." His fingers snatched the hem of her dress and pulled it up and over her head. He sat up on the bed and wrapped his arms around her waist, sliding his fingertips beneath the elastic band of her pale, blue panties, the only thing she'd been wearing under the dress.

Liv pushed the shirt off of his shoulders and tossed it aside. It fluttered to the ground beside the bed in an untidy heap.

"I know," she whispered and slipped her arms around his neck. Their lips met with a frightening ferocity; their bodies molded together like warm clay. Dean flipped her onto her back, rocking the bed, and dropped himself on top of her without ever breaking the kiss. She reached down to push away his trousers and boxer briefs.

He brutally pulled her hips up, off of the bed, and ripped away her panties. They fell to the floor beside his forgotten shirt. Liv wrapped her legs around his waist; his body was so firm and hot against her skin, and she arched her back against him, ready for that moment of joining but it never came. Instead, she heard a familiar chirp from his jacket.

"Noooooo," Liv groaned. She couldn't count the number of times they'd been interrupted by his cell phone. "Who is calling you at-" she glanced at the bedside table "-3:30 in the afternoon? Is that really the time? Dammit…"

"I don't know but it better be fucking important," he said, his voice low and dangerous, as he stomped across the floor to where his jacket hung on a chair. "Hello?" he demanded into the phone.

Liv leaned back against the pillow. Her body was tense and covered in sweat. She knew from experience that it was unlikely he'd return to the bed.

"Fine," Dean growled. "I'll meet you there." He dropped the phone onto the table and let out and impressive roar.

"I guess you have to leave?" Liv asked, dolefully.

"Yeah. Garth wants to check out Becky's house. I'd tell him to go fuck himself but it's actually a good idea." He started rifling through his duffel bag, pulling out jeans, a black T, and a dark grey button-up shirt. "Do you want to come along?" he asked, taking her by surprise.

"Really?" she asked, jumping up from the bed. She'd never been invited along for these types of thing. "Yeah, I'll come along. If you don't think it'll be too awkward?" She was worried about being with Dean and Garth at the same time.

He smiled at her, his mischievous grin that always made her stomach twinge with desire. "I think it should be fine. Worked out my jealousy, I guess."

Liv smiled back and struggled into a pair of tight blue jeans. "Okay, great." As she finished dressing, relief overwhelmed her.

* * *

"Where are we going, again?" Liv asked from the backseat of the car. She'd diplomatically allowed Garth to sit in front, acknowledging his long legs and hoping that he and Dean might, somehow, be able to bond through the hunting experience.

Dean handed a photograph back to her. In it, a girl held a giant fish in front a quaint, little cabin. Liv flipped over the photo and read the note on the back.

"Aww, little Becky. Cute," she said.

"Shut up," Dean said, but grinned at her in the rearview mirror.

"We're thinking this might be the location of the romantic getaway Becky mentioned in her internet blog-thing," Garth said.

"How far away?" Liv asked.

"Only another fifteen minutes or so," Garth answered, checking out a map that he'd placed on the dashboard. They'd been driving only thirty minutes.

"Do you think Sam is there?" Liv asked.

Dean nodded. "I hope so; they weren't at Becky's place."

When they pulled up to the cabin half an hour later, Liv saw a car parked in the gravel driveway. There was movement inside, just barely visible through the paisley curtains.

Dean jumped out of the car and pulled a pistol from a holster in his jacket. He stalked to the door, his jaw set in a firm, assertive, and undeniably sexy grimace. Liv watched from the backseat where she'd been forced to remain, as a precaution. Dean pounded on the door, which opened almost immediately. Becky stood just beyond the threshold, looking terrified. Dean motioned for Liv to follow.

Inside, Sam sat on a couch with his hands clasped together. A vial of purple liquid stood on the coffee table. Becky looked miserable, wringing her hands. Liv could tell she'd been crying; her eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed.

"You okay, Sammy?" Dean asked, harshly.

Sam nodded. "I'm fine. Completely fine, now. Right, Becky?"

Becky nodded, tears filling her eyes.

"We have to get to the restaurant where Becky's reunion was. That's where we'll find the crossroads demon," Sam said.

"So you believe me now? You know you're not really in love with her?" Dean asked.

Becky whimpered and sat on a chair.

"Yeah, I know," Sam answered. Liv caught his glare in Becky's direction but was thankful when he didn't say anything.

"Then let's head over there," Dean said, storming out of the cabin.

It took another two hours to reach the restaurant. By the time they pulled up, the parking lot was nearly empty. Liv realized this could only be a good thing; it would probably get messy inside. On the drive over, Becky had called her "friend" and arranged to meet him in the banquet hall but they had planned for him to get there thirty minutes later. Sam and Dean needed time to set up their plan.

They left Becky and Liv to sit at a table in the bar. Liv ordered a glass of wine but Becky declined anything to drink. She sat there without speaking, forlornly glancing through the doorway to where the boys were stomping around.

"What did you do?" Becky finally said, breaking the silence.

"What do you mean?" Liv asked.

Becky sighed. "To make Dean want you. What did you do?"

Liv's wrinkled her eyebrows together. "I don't know. I didn't do anything."

Becky snorted. "That's crap. Dean Winchester is _not_ a one-woman man. You had to have done something."

Liv shrugged. "But I didn't. I wanted him, too, and I think he knew it before I did. But it just happened."

"Why aren't you in the books?" Becky asked, abruptly changing the subject.

Liv shook her head. "I don't know that, either."

"It doesn't make any sense," Becky muttered, no longer directing her words at Liv. "Chuck knows everything; he should have known about her."

"Listen, Becky, I'm sorry that this didn't work out the way you wanted it to. I know how hard it is to love someone that doesn't love you back," Liv said, remembering how she felt as she drove away from Rufus' cabin after Dean told her he wanted her to go.

Becky looked up at her sharply, but was interrupted by Sam.

"Alright, it's time. We're all ready," he called.

Liv set down her glass of wine and watched Becky shuffle into the banquet hall. Sam and Dean slipped past her and disappeared into an empty coat closet, where Garth was already waiting. Dean had ordered her to remain in the bar, no matter what she heard or saw. A few minutes later, she watched an attractive, African American man saunter into the banquet hall. She knew it had to be the demon, Guy; he was far too sure of himself to be anyone else.

There was nothing for a few moments. Liv tried to listen in but the bar was too loud. Suddenly, the door to the banquet hall slammed shut, without anyone touching it. Liv got up and ran to the coat closet but it was empty; there was another door, though, and this one led to the banquet hall where Liv could see Sam and Dean arguing with the demon, who was imprisoned in a devil's trap.

"Right. So how you cheating it?" Dean was asking.

"I'm not a cheater. I'm an innovator. It's called a loophole, you moron. Yes, when a person bargains away his soul, he gets a decade, technically. But accidents happen."

"So you're arranging "accidents" and collecting early?" Sam asked.

"Oh, please. White gloves," Guy said, holding up his spotless hands. "I don't get my hands dirty. That's why it's important to have a capable intern."

A man with a long, blonde ponytail appeared behind him, smiling wickedly. Sam, Dean, and Garth were suddenly flung backwards, each landing gracelessly on the floor after crashing through tables, chairs, and hitting walls. Deans knife skittered across the floor, much too far away for him to reach. Liv fought with herself, wanting to help but not knowing what to do.

"What time did I ask you to be here? What time did I ask you to be here?!" Guy shouted at his companion, who broke the devil's trap.

The crossroads demon was suddenly in front of Dean, who stood, splashing holy water onto the demon, and began to recite the exorcism rites. Before he could finish the verses, Guy grabbed him by the throat and began raising him into the air.

"Becky, run!" Sam shouted as the ponytailed demon advanced on him.

Liv watched Garth slowly struggle to his feet but, with a simple motion of his arm, the ponytailed demon sent him flying backwards. He turned back to Sam, twisting his hand. Sam started choking; Liv rushed out of the closet, hurrying to help Dean but before she got halfway across the floor, Becky had thrust Dean's knife into Sam's captor's back. It fell to the ground, sending sulphurous sparks through the room. Sam tossed the knife to Dean, who held it to Guy's throat.

"Whoa," Becky murmured.

Liv stopped short when Guy released Dean's throat.

"How many deals you got cooking in this town, Madoff?" Dean asked.

"Fifteen."

"Yeah, well, call them off, or I'll cut my own loophole in your throat," Dean demanded.

"Oh, crap," Guy answered, his voice choked.

"Yeah, you said it. You're in a world -," Dean began, but was interrupted.

"Hello, boys," Crowley drawled in his Scottish accent. Liv turned to him, her eyes wide.

"Oh, crap," Dean groaned. He sidled around the crossroads demon's body, keeping the knife pressed tightly against its' throat.

"Sam, mazel tov. Who's the lucky lady?" Crowley asked, turning toward Sam.

"You're Crowley!" Becky declared, a gleeful smile stretched across her face.

"And you're - well, I'm sure you have a wonderful personality, dear," Crowley answered, unkindly.

"Ah, another step, and I'll Colombian necktie your little friend here," Dean shouted.

"Please, don't let him get off that easy," Crowley said, smiling.

"Sir, I don't think that you -," Guy began, looking more than a little anxious.

"I know exactly what you've been doing. A little birdie named Jackson sold you out, e-mailed all the juicy deets to my suggestion box," Crowley said, motioning to the ponytailed demon who was sprawled out in a pool of blood on the floor.

"I assume... That's my whistle-blower? Shame. Had a future. Unfortunately, you don't."

"I was just -," Guy said, but was interrupted, again.

"There's only one rule - make a deal, keep it," Crowley berated him.

"Well, technically, I didn't -."

"There's a reason we don't call our chits in early - consumer confidence. This isn't Wall Street! This is Hell! We have a little something called integrity. This gets out, who'll deal with us? Nobody! Then where are we?"

"I don't know," Guy answered.

"That's right. You don't. Because you're a stupid, shortsighted little prat. Now, hand the jackass over. I'll cancel every deal he's made," Crowley said, turning to Dean.

"What are you gonna do with him?" Dean asked.

"Make an example of him. Fair trade, right? We all go our separate ways. No harm done."

"What, out of the goodness of your heart?" Sam asked, derisively.

"Years of demons nipping at your heels, haven't seen one for months. Wonder why?"

"We've been a little busy," Dean said."

"Hunting Leviathan - yes, I know. That's why I told my lads to stay clear of you meatheads," Crowley said, severely.

"So, what do you know about -," Sam started.

"Too much. You met that dick yet? Smuggest tub of goo since Mussolini. I hate the bastards. Squash 'em all, please. I'll stay clear," Crowley said.

"Rip up the contracts first," Dean ordered.

Crowley snapped his fingers, with a smile of pure cooperation.

"Done... and done. Your turn."

"No, no, no, no. Let -," Guy pleaded but Dean pushed him away, toward the King of Hell.

"Pleasure, gentlemen," Crowley said, politely. He turned his attention to Liv, who was still frozen in place just outside the closet. "Hello, Olivia. How are you? Have you been considering my offer?"

Liv couldn't speak. Her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth. She saw the look of confusion and concern flit across Dean's face as he struggled to understand what was happening.

"I suppose you'll need more time, won't you, darling? That's alright. I'll be in touch," Crowley said, and disappeared with Guy.

Liv turned to Dean and opened her mouth, trying to put together a response that wouldn't infuriate him. Before she came up with anything, Garth spoke up, having just woken.

"What'd I miss?" he asked, in a daze voice.


	23. Chapter 23

"Well, this is fun, right?" Liv asked in a voice laced with forced cheer. "All of us, hanging out together, going on a hunt. Right?" She trailed off when none of the answered, not even Sam.

Dean had been cold since their run-in with Crowley, but that was to be expected. What she hadn't anticipated was Sam's ire and resentment. She had made the choice not to tell either of them about Crowley's visit and now it was biting her in the ass. They were pissed, and rightfully so, but at least they'd both promised not to tell Bobby. He was still in the dark about why Liv was in the dog's house with both of the boys.

Liv abandoned her plight of trying to make peace and stared out the window, instead. She was crammed into the backseat with Sam, whose legs were taking up eighty percent of the floor. Liv was thankful she'd been blessed with her mother's diminished height and was tucked into her corner of Bobby's car, with her legs crossed.

Dean had been beyond furious when she told him about Crowley's proposition. He couldn't understand why the King of Hell would be so interested in her, beyond his own involvement. But, Crowley had promised to stay out of his way, so why would he be trying to hurt Dean by trying to hurt Liv? He didn't understand and it only made him angrier when Liv couldn't explain. He didn't believe her; he was certain she had more information, that she knew why Crowley had contacted her, and just wasn't sharing the information.

Dean's anger was justified, and she didn't blame him for it or take it personally, but Sam's words had stung. He told her she was foolish, stupid even, that she'd put not only herself but all of them in danger, that she had no idea what she was doing or who she was dealing with. He told her that only an idiot would let Crowley get so close and then, to make matters worse, she hadn't told any of them about the encounter. His disappointment was like a grey cloud that grew heavier and darker above her head as his grim tirade continued.

The cloud had followed her since then which, coincidentally, was also the last time Sam had spoken to her. At least Dean didn't ignore her completely, which would have been awkward considering they slept in the same bed. It was a sticky situation, one she wasn't sure how to get out of.

Liv sighed and watched the houses and fields of the surround farm country fly past. She rested her head on the window; it was cool against her cheek but nowhere near as chilly as the atmosphere around her, inside the car.

* * *

"I thought you got the lights on?" Liv asked. The house was old and run-down, just like the last, but the lights coming on had been a huge improvement. Dean was smart, and she loved him just as he was, but he was no electrician. He hadn't been able to get the power going in any of the previous houses they'd "visited" and she was looking forward to warm water. She hadn't had a hot shower since Bobby banned motel rooms.

Dean grunted and Bobby shrugged, dismal responses but at least they had acknowledged her. Sam didn't even look up from his paperwork.

"Okay…" she said and slumped into one of the chairs at the table. "What did you guys find?"

In the past, Liv had always distanced herself from their cases; she didn't want to know about the things that went bump in the night, or how close Dean got to them. She'd listened to her father ramble on and on about vampires, werewolves, wendigo, ghosts, anything and everything, since childhood. When she was younger, it was all a game, something he made up to scare her. As she got older, she started to wonder if he might be crazy. She'd even gone so far as to ask her mother, who was angry at Rick for discussing such things in front of their daughter. Angry, but not surprised, Liv realized.

When Liv was eleven, she went to visit her father in Kansas and had witnessed proof of the paranormal with her own eyes. A spirit was haunting a town not far from where her father lived. He was the closest hunter and it was a simple case. Bobby was tied up with another case so Rick couldn't drop Liv at the salvage yard. He was forced to take her along. She'd seen him lay the salt lines, load his shotgun with rock salt, and gather all of his iron weapons, the whole time wondering what lunacy he was involved in. She thought it was all insanity, up until she came face to face with the ghost. Her father saved her life and, after that, she never doubted him. She also never joined him on a hunt, again.

But, more recently, she'd found herself drawn into Dean's professional life more and more. She enjoyed listening to him talk about the battles he'd won; she was eager to hear more and maybe even learn some of his tricks.

"Looks like we got ourselves a Jersey Devil," Bobby said, passing her one of the sheets of paper he'd been studying.

"Seriously? I didn't know they were real," Liv said. She scanned the notice, her eyebrows perked up. "Do you know how to kill it?"

"Not yet," Dean answered.

"We're gonna get some more info tomorrow, check out the body. Maybe get some ideas on how to take it out," Bobby said.

"I guess I'm stuck here for the next few days," Liv grumbled. She dropped the paper onto the table and leaned back in the chair.

"Yes," Dean said, just as Bobby was shaking his head.

"Nah, she can come with me to the morgue. Liv's seen plenty of dead bodies before; it's time she put her skills to use."

"Bobby, that's ridiculous! She's never been on a case before; she doesn't know what to do!" Sam said, incredulously.

"Really, Bobby? Not your best idea," Dean said.

"I'm serious. It's time you two give her a little more credit. She could be helpful if you'd just let her," Bobby said, exasperated.

Liv smiled over at him, trying to convey how appreciative she was to have his support after feeling like an outcast for so many days.

"She doesn't even know how to shoot a gun," Sam said, coldly.

"Yes, I do, actually," Liv answered, tartly. "My dad taught me when I was eight and I've been shooting ever since."

"I didn't know that," Dean said, thoughtfully.

"Yeah, well, you never asked," Liv said, dolefully.

"So, that's it. You two check out the rangers; Liv and I'll check out the body," Bobby said, standing from the table. "Now, I'm going to find the only room with a bed. Night."

Liv watched Bobby disappear into the darkness of the living room. A second later, his heavy footsteps ascended the staircase. The temperature in the kitchen dropped ten degrees as he left.

"I'm going to bed, too," Sam said, without a trace of emotion. He left the kitchen, taking the electric lamp with him.

Moonlight streamed in through the windows but otherwise, the kitchen was dark. Dean sat on one of the dilapidated counters. Liv could see his face; he stared blankly at the floor.

"I'm sorry," she said, picking at the sides of her fingernails.

"For what?" he asked. He didn't look away from the floor.

"For not telling you about Crowley," she answered.

Dean shrugged. He finally looked up and caught her gaze.

"We should go to bed. Big day tomorrow," he finally said and hopped down from the counter. He brushed past her on the way to the living room.

* * *

She was like a machine. Bobby had never seen anything like it. She moved with an efficiency and adeptness that he'd never seen her display in the outside world. He knew what she did, for a living, but he still had expected some kind of reaction, some sign of discomfort or weakness, when the body bag was unzipped and the remains presented, but there was nothing; no flinch of the eyes, no grimace, no wrinkling of the nose. Liv was a professional, an expert, and it came out when she was in the presence of death.

"I've never seen wounds like these," Liv said. Her gloved hands were buried in the corpse's torso. She shifted viscera and tissue with practiced ease, examining the markings that had ripped through skin and torn apart bone. Bobby was taken aback by how comfortable she seemed to be, elbow deep in a mound of rotting, human carcass.

"Neither have I," he finally answered.

Liv scanned the area, presumably to ensure their solitude.

"Not werewolf?" she asked.

Bobby shook his head. He'd already eliminated the most likely perpetrators. "There's pieces of heart left, see that right there?" He pointed at a slender, tube-like section of tissue. "And the bite radius is way too small to be a leviathan."

"Could it really be a Jersey Devil?" Liv asked. She knelt closer to the body. Too close, Bobby thought. Her chin was mere inches from what he had determined to be the dead man's breastbone. Thankfully, she'd pulled her hair back in a tight bun before beginning the examination. She'd refused to wear a suit, though. He had allowed her to wear one of her long, knit dresses but insisted she cover it with a white, lab coat. She could never pass as an FBI agent so they had created another alias; she was posing as an expert medical professional, which allowed her a level of eccentricity that simply wouldn't be believed for an agent.

"I guess it could be. First time for everything, and all that."

"Interesting," Liv said, thoughtfully, in a tone that would have been comically unbelievable to Bobby if they hadn't been in the presence of extremely violent death. He would never have thought that Liv could be so proficient.

"I think we've got everything we're gonna get from this guy. We should meet the boys."

"Yeah, okay," Liv said, still distracted by the body. Bobby watched her eyes travel the full length of the corpse, like a hawk's. She added one last note to her legal pad, which was already full of her messy scrawl; she'd begun recording the examination immediately after entering the morgue. She'd even scratched down the temperature of the room.

"Nicely done, Liv," Bobby said, with a warm smile. She looked up at him and smiled back.

"Thanks."

* * *

An hour later, the four met at a local Biggerson's restaurant. Liv and Bobby lingered at the entryway as they sought out Sam and Dean. She quickly located them at a table with an unknown man, dressed in a ranger uniform. Liv hoped they had gotten more information than she; she had reviewed her notes on the way over and they still had no idea of what caused the man's death.

Liv waved at Dean and was rewarded with a small smile; he was clearly still angry but at least he was happy to see her, she thought. They quickly left the ranger to his lunch and made their way toward her and Bobby.

"So?" Dean asked as he approached.

"Well, we took a look at the cadaver… what's left of it. Not a happy camper. Don't have any stats on a Jersey Devil, but the bite radius on the vic's wounds… It's too small for a Leviathan. And he's still got a ventricle and some change, so I doubt we're talking werewolf. And a wendigo don't leave no scraps." Bobby answered. Liv nodded along with his evaluation.

"Hmm. Lunch?" Dean asked.

"Starving," Bobby said.

"Me, too," Liv added. Her stomach had been growling since they left the medical examiner's office.

Dean waved at a passing waiter. "Hey! Uh… Brandon. We grab a booth?" he asked, brightly, after consulting the water's nametag.

"Hey, uh… douchewad. A hostess will seat you. Do I look like a freaking hostess?" Brandon, the surly waiter, answered in a hostile tone.

"Do you want to look like a hostess?" Dean asked, lamely, as Brandon stormed away.

"That didn't really make sense, what you said," Sam told his brother, trying not to laugh.

"What was that?" Dean asked, incredulously.

Liv shrugged.

"I sure hope we don't get Brandon's section," Bobby said. Liv laughed and agreed.

Sure enough, within minutes of being seated by the hostess, they were approached by Brandon, who practically demanded their orders before stomping away.

"That guy has some anger management issues," Liv said, stirring sugar into her iced tea.

"Tell us about the body," Sam said, ignoring Liv's statement. She rolled her eyes in her irritation; she was getting tired of the silent treatment and was starting to wonder when Sam would grow up and stop being such a whiney baby about the whole thing.

"I don't have to," Bobby said. "Liv's got pages of notes you can go over."

Liv rifled through her bag and pulled out her legal pad. She passed it over to Dean who placed it on the table where he and Sam could both see it. They pored through each page, going over every detail. Dean asked a few questions, just to clarify, but they were quiet, otherwise.

Unfortunately, as detailed and informative as her notes were, they still couldn't come up with a specific creature that could have caused the camper's death.

"Dammit," Dean said, and ran his hand over his mouth. "Still nothing."

"She did great," Bobby said, suddenly. "She did everything right, followed all my instructions. She did a great job."

Liv shrugged and continued stirring her tea, avoiding Dean's eyes. She had tried but her efforts amounted to nothing.

"Yeah, these are awesome," Sam finally said. "Thanks, Liv. I'm sure they'll be helpful."

Liv looked up and realized he was smiling at her. Not his normal, wide grin but at least it was something. She smiled back, gratefully.

The waiter returned with a large tray of food then, and set it on the table beside them. He reached for a plate and gracelessly placed it in front of Sam.

"Sidewinder soup and salad combo goes to Big Bird," Brandon said, angrily.

Sam scowled up at him.

"TDK Slammer for Ken Doll," Brandon continued, dropping a plate in front of Dean.

Liv stifled a snicker.

"Bacon burger with onion rings for Smelly Hippy," he added, letting Liv's plate clatter into place in front of her. Her eyes widened when she realized he was referring to her. She'd bathed in cold water that morning so she didn't think she was actually smelly but her hair was hanging, wild and untethered, down her back and around her face.

"Hey!" Sam cried out, but Brandon ignored him.

"And a little heart-smart for Creepy Uncle," he finished, stepping away from the table.

"What is your _problem_?" Dean demanded.

" _You_ are my problem!" Brandon shouted before angrily clomping away.

"Do I stink?" Liv whispered, mortified. She sniffed at her hair and frowned, smelling nothing but the lavender oil she sometimes used to tame her disorderly curls.

"No, baby, you don't stink," Dean said, sharply, and glared at the waiter as he stalked into the kitchen. He tenderly patted her hand and offered a tentative but sincere smile.

Liv was wholly reassured, not just that she didn't smell but also that he was starting to forgive her.

"Old Brandon's got his flare all up in a bunch," Bobby said, picking up his fork.

"Yeah, there goes his eighteen percent," Sam added.

"Anyway," Dean began. "Chief Ranger… I don't think he believes in the Jersey Devil."

"Oh, by the way, did he seem a little… stoned to you?" Sam asked.

"Ranger Rick? Yeah, definitely growing his own on the back forty and smoking all the profits," Dean answered.

Liv picked at her burger and shredded her onion rings into tiny pieces. She was disappointed in herself for not being more helpful, but even Bobby didn't know what they were up against.

"He did seem to think that there was something…" Sam cut off when Dean interrupted him.

"Oh, that is good sandwich," Dean groaned, his mouth entirely stuffed.

"What the hell did you get?" Bobby asked. Dean flipped the advertisement on the table so that Bobby could read the description.

"New Pepperjack Turducken Slammer. Limited time only," Dean said.

Bobby grimaced. "Bunch of birds shoved up inside each other. Shouldn't play God like that…"

"Hey, don't look at me sideways from that… that Chinese chicken geezer salad there, okay? This is awesome. Like the perfect storm of your top three edible birds," Dean said, scowling.

Liv watched the exchange with a wide grin. She thought the turducken sounded disgusting, and unnatural, but she found Dean's enthusiasm adorable. Plus, annoying Bobby was always entertaining to observe.

"Alright, anyways… The ranger did seem to think there was something out in Wharton Forest," Sam said.

"Well, then, I'd say it's safari time," Bobby said.

Before anyone could say anything else, they were interrupted by a bizarre snafu behind the counter, involving their favorite waiter.

"She's big boned!" an unknown employee was shouting at Brandon.

"Look at her," Brandon shouted. "You're telling me she's not fat?!"

"Hey!" the other man said.

"Up yours, Mike. Shove it right up yours!" Brandon continued. He ripped away his apron and flung it onto the counter before stomping out of the restaurant.

"That guy's a dick," Liv grumbled through a mouthful of onion ring. "I don't stink."

* * *

While his kisses goodbye were far more affectionate than they had been, Liv couldn't help but feel rejected when Dean forbade her from accompanying them into the woods. She spent the afternoon moping around the house, wishing the electricity was working and missing her dog.

Molly was spending her days in the lap of luxury with Jodi Mills, who sent regular updates and various images of the dog lounging on the couch, her bed, or the front porch swing. Molly was generally undiscerning but she had no trouble finding the most comfortable napping spots in Jodi's house. Liv missed her terribly but knew that Molly being with Jodi was the safest possible option for them all. Plus, Jodi genuinely seemed to enjoy having Molly around; she'd once told Liv she didn't realize how lonely she actually was until she had friends with which to spend time. Molly alleviated some, if not all, of that loneliness. Unfortunately, that left Liv on her own, much of the time. Jodi's loneliness didn't go away entirely; it was simply transferred to another individual - Liv, herself.

Liv was still feeling sorry for herself, texting Jodi for the third time, when she heard Bobby's car pull up into the driveway. It was dark by the time they returned, lugging what was unmistakably a body wrapped in a tarp into the decrepit house.

"Is that it?" Liv asked, excited. "Do you know what it is?"

Sam and Dean hauled the body onto the kitchen table. Liv made a face when she caught a whiff of its unimaginable odor. It was like the most disgusting, decomposed body she had ever encountered at the funeral home.

"This is definitely our monster," Dean answered. "Just not sure what the fucker actually _is_ , yet."

"Built like a supermodel, but the thing was strong, that's for damn sure. Carried a full-grown man up a tree in nothing flat," Bobby added.

"But it only took one bullet to bring it down," Sam said.

"And not even a silver bullet," Dean agreed.

He had barely finished his sentence when the thing sat up straight on the table and then leapt to its feet. Liv shrieked and stumbled backward, knocking over a chair and cracking her head on the fireplace mantle.

Sam, Dean, and Bobby all had guns in their hands within fractions of a second and each fired round after round into the creature's body. It fell back onto the table and didn't move, again.

"First one must have just stunned it," Bobby remarked.

Liv let out a tiny whimper and massaged the back of her head.

"You okay?" Sam asked.

She nodded and took a step closer to the table.

"Alright, well, let's check its hulk pants for some ID," Dean said. He slid a soggy, slimy wallet from the thing's pocket. "Oh, that is just gonna ruin the leather."

Sam took the wallet with the tips of his fingers, cringing.

"You feeling okay?" Bobby asked Dean.

"Yeah, I feel great," Dean answered. He stepped closer to Liv and slipped his arm around her shoulders before planting a huge, sloppy kiss on her cheek. She looked up at him, appreciative of the sudden spur of fondness but confused by it, as well. He grinned back at her.

Sam held up the ID and read aloud. "Gerald Browder lived here in town. Five foot nine inches, brown hair and blue eyes, two hundred thirty five pounds," he said, hesitantly.

"Whoa," Dean said. All four of them stared at the body. Liv estimated its weight as no more than a hundred and twenty pounds.

"Well, apparently he's lost a little pudge," Bobby said, flatly.

"Maybe it's a… a lap band side effect," Dean said, smirking at his own stupid joke.

Bobby picked up a stick from the floor and poked it into the bullet holes. When he pulled it out, it was dripping a thick, viscous grey liquid.

"What the hell?" Bobby said. "I think we'd better have a look under Gerald's hood. Liv, get over here."

Liv scurried forward and looked down at the body. "Do you guys have anything to crack open his ribcabe?" she asked.

Once Bobby had brought her a set of heavy clippers and some forceps from the trunk of his car, it wasn't long before Liv had the body splayed open. Sam brought over an empty bucket and, together, they began sorting through the contents of Gerald's torso.

"God! Its organs are swimming in the stuff," Bobby said, looking utterly disgusted.

Dean walked in with a glass in one hand and a bottle in the other, pouring himself a drink.

"You guys getting hungry?" he asked. "I'm hungry."

Liv looked at him and then at the handful of goopy, slimy sludge she held in both hands. Food was the furthest thing from her mind.

"What's that?" Sam asked, ignoring his brother.

"His stomach," Bobby answered, also ignoring Dean's question. "For a guy on a diet, Gerry here packed it in pretty good."

"This is what I think it is, isn't it?" Liv asked, holding up a finger.

"That's human, right there," Sam said, nodding.

"That's fresh Rick. Let's see. Plus… a pine cone? Pack of gum in the wrapper," Bobby said, dropping each item into the bucket.

"That's older," Sam said, picking out a piece of tissue and inspecting it. "Maybe like a… maybe Ranger Phil or the camper."

"What's that?" Bobby asked as Sam pulled another mysterious object out.

"Looks like a… yeah, that's a… that's a cat head," Sam said, grimacing.

"Poor kitty…" Liv said, frowning, as Sam dropped the decapitated cat head into the bucket with the other grimy items.

"A glamper or two is one thing but you got to be damn hungry to eat a cat's head," Bobby said.

"And an asshole," Liv added.

"Mhmm," Sam agreed.

Well, lookit here," Bobby said. "I'm no Dr. Oz but… I think that's his adrenal glands." He held up a large, lumpy, black organ that was about the size of a grapefruit.

"Okay, and?" Sam said.

"Meant to be the size of hotel bar soap, and bright orange," Bobby added.

"Yeah, there's definitely something really wrong with those glands," Liv said, inspecting them more closely. The three of them winced at the obscene smell emanating from the engorged adrenal glands.

"Eww.. Alright, that might help explain the strength. But whatever this thing is, it's not the Jersey Devil but it sure as hell ain't Gerald Browder, anymore," Sam said, and dropped the offending ball of flesh.

"Okay, guys, seriously. It's time for dinner?" Dean said."

Liv, Bobby, and Sam spent the next twenty minutes cleaning up the slimy sludge that had somehow found its way on the floor, their clothes, in Liv's hair, and all of their arms. It was sticky and gooey, like thick, grey glue. Dean waited, impatiently, in the car, calling out to them every few minutes and grumbling about how hungry he was.

"I'm gonna hit him," Liv groused under her breath. "Did I get all that shit out of my hair? I can still smell it."

Sam picked through the long strands, gently twisting them around. "Nah, I think you got it all." He gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

"Thanks, Sam," Liv said, hoping he knew that she meant so much more than just checking her hair for goop.

He smiled, and nodded.

"Come on; let's go!" Dean shouted at them. "I'm fuckin' _starved_ out here!"

"Alright, we're coming. Chill out!" Liv called back. He was acting like an idiot and she didn't think she was the only one who thought so.

"We better get going," Bobby said. He dropped a load of soggy rags into the bucket.

The three of them made their way to the car. Dean was tucked into the backseat with his hands clasped together.

"It's about time!" he said, but with an amiable smile. "Let's go back to Biggerson's! I want another one of those Turducken things!"

"Fine by me," Bobby said. He held the seat forward so Liv could crawl into the back before slipping into the driver's seat and firing up the engine.

Thankfully, when they arrived at the restaurant, there was no sign of Brandon. Liv suspected that he had actually quit, earlier in the day, and if he hadn't quit he'd most certainly been fired after his outburst. They had a perfectly friendly, yet unobtrusive, waitress who took their orders and brought their food with as few words as possible.

Dean had thrown himself at his sandwich with as much enthusiasm as Liv had ever seen him invest in their lovemaking. She was wondering if she should feel offended or replaced as he groaned and moaned through mouthfuls of food. She had ordered a chocolate milkshake, which was clearly far less satisfying than the TDK Slammer appeared to be. Bobby and Sam had chosen only coffee and were both focused on Sam's laptop.

"Gerald Browder, thirty five, self-employed. Air-conditioning repairman," Sam read from the open website. "Missing person number three. Disappeared eight days ago."

"He lost over a hundred pounds in eight days? That's crazy," Liv said.

"Well, that explains all the people who got eaten in the last eight days," Bobby said.

"Yeah. Question is, what happened to him? Liv's right, eight days isn't nearly enough time to drop that much weight."

Dean interrupted them with another loud groan.

"Dean. So, what do you think?" Sam asked him.

Dean shrugged. "I'm not that worried about it," he said, barely intelligible through an enormous bite of his sandwich.

"Excuse me?" Bobby said, disbelievingly.

Dean smiled. "That's funny, right? I could give two shakes of a rat's tail. Is that right? Do rats shake their ass, or is it something else? Eh…" He shrugged, noncommittally.

"Dean, are you okay?" Liv asked.

"I'm totally fine," he answered. "Are you okay? Heard anything from Crowley, lately?"

"Dean!" Sam said, accusingly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Bobby asked, in a treacherous tone.

Liv blanched. Dean had promised not to tell Bobby about Crowley, yet here he was, bringing up the one thing he'd sworn to secrecy.

"Oh Bobby, you see, Liv and Crowley are like best friends now," Dean said. He shoved another bite of his sandwich into his mouth. "They've been hanging out, making plans. Super-secret plans, that is." He wriggled his eyebrows up and down.

"The hell is he going on about?" Bobby asked, glancing back and forth between Liv and Sam.

"Nothing, Bobby, it's nothing," Sam said.

"No, you tell me what he's talking about," Bobby demanded.

"Crowley came to the cabin," Liv said. She had resigned herself to telling the truth. "He said something about me coming to stay with him. He said you guys wouldn't be able to keep me safe."

Bobby's eyes popped open. "What the hell, Liv? You didn't think it was worth mentioning to me?"

"Oh, it wasn't worth mentioning to me and Sam, either," Dean said, grinning. "We found out when Crowley showed up in Delaware. No big deal."

"No big deal?!" Bobby shouted. Dean shrugged.

Sam looked around the restaurant. It was full of customers, nearly all of them enjoying the TDK Slammer, just as Dean was.

"Give me that," Sam said, snatching the sandwich out of Dean's hands.

"Whoa, whoa! Why?" Dean protested.

Bobby glared at Liv. "We'll talk about Crowley later," he said, menacingly. "There's some funky chicken in the TDK Slammer, ain't there?" he asked Sam.

"Yeah," Sam answered. He sniffed the sandwich and winced, pulling away from its offensive odor.

They quickly paid their bill and left the restaurant, carrying the foil-wrapped sandwich. Liv avoided Bobby's gaze. She was terrified of the row that would certainly be coming. Bobby wasn't like Sam and Dean; he wouldn't ignore her and keep his anger inside. He would erupt and it wouldn't be pretty.

Back at the house, Bobby placed the sandwich on a plate in the middle of the table where Gerald Browder had so recently lain.

"This is stupid. My sandwich didn't do anything. I don't know what you think you're gonna find," Dean grumbled.

Sam unwrapped the sandwich from its swan-shaped foil packaging.

"There's something wrong with you, Dean," Bobby said.

"Are you kidding?" Dean argued. "I'm fine. I… I actually feel great. The best I've felt in a couple months. Cas? Black goo? Liv and Crowley? I don't even care anymore. And you know what's even better? I don't care that I don't care. I just want my damn slammer back."

"Dude!" Sam began. "You are completely stoned, just like Ranger Rick was."

"They're both right, honey. You're not acting like yourself, at all," Liv said.

"Just like the dinner rush back at Biggerson's," Bobby said. "And everybody's loving the Turducken."

They were all distracted by an odd, gurgling noise that came from the table. Grey slop bubbled out from inside the meat.

"I think you pissed off my sandwich," Dean said, his eyes wide. More of the goop plopped out onto the table. "That… that's in me?"

"Only half…" Sam said.

Liv wrinkled her nose.

"Does that snot look familiar?" Bobby asked.

"Definitely," Liv said. She felt her milkshake sloshing around in her stomach.

"Okay, so whatever turned Gerry Browder into a pumpkin head… and is currently turning Dean into an idiot…" Sam started, but Dean interrupted him.

"I'm right here," he said. "Right here."

"Is in the Turducken Slammer at Biggerson's," Bobby finished for Sam.

"Yeah," Sam said, nodding.

"It's in the meat," Bobby continued.

Dean looked slightly pale. "If I wasn't so chilled out right now, I would puke," he said.

* * *

Liv was left alone again, only this time they were gone all night and the next day. When they did come back, Bobby wasn't with them.

"Where's Bobby?" Liv asked, immediately.

Both Sam and Dean moved quickly around the house gathering all of their things and carrying them out to a van that Liv had never seen before.

"They got him," Sam said, without stopping.

"What? Who got him?" Liv shouted.

"Dick Roman and the other leviathan," Dean answered. He stopped in front of her. He was back to his old self, on point and focused. "But, we know where he is and we're going to get him back. And, you have to come with us this time. Once we have Bobby we're getting the hell out of this town. Alright?"

Liv nodded. She was terrified for Bobby.

"Alright, baby. Get your stuff and get in the van. Things might get a little rough so I want you to stay put, in the back. I don't even want them to know you're there. Got it?" he said.

Liv nodded again, her eyes brimming with tears of concern and fear.

"Don't worry. We're gonna get him back," Dean said, drawing her into his arms.

"We gotta move, now," Sam said as he brushed by.

Liv stepped away from Dean and brusquely snatched up her bag. She hurried out to the van with Dean right behind her. Sam jumped into the driver's seat and slammed on the gas.

An hour later, they were in the parking lot of a large, office building. Sam and Dean had joined Liv in the back of the van and she was helping them strap enormous, heavy, portable pressure sprayers to their backs. The liquid inside sloshed around and had a powerful smell of ammonia.

"You're sure you guys can carry these?" Liv asked. The tanks looked far too heavy to her.

"We'll be fine," Sam said. He held the sprayers nozzle in one hand.

"Remember what I said," Dean ordered Liv. "Stay out of sight but be ready to jump in the driver's seat if you need to get away."

"I'm not going anywhere without you," Liv said, sternly, and she meant it. She would never leave him behind, or Sam and Bobby.

Dean's expression softened.

"I know you won't, baby. Just be ready, okay?" He reached up and brushed back a strand of her hair. "We won't be long and Bobby might need help."

"Okay," Liv whispered.

He pressed his lips to hers and she closed her eyes, tightly. The kiss was short and chaste, far too short for her liking. And then he was gone, slamming the van door behind him.

The next twenty minutes were torture, almost worse than being held hostage by the vampires. She fiddled with the empty bottles of cleaning solution, twisted her hair into messy braids, picked at her fingernails, and stared out the window, constantly watchful. Still, they managed to surprise her when they returned.

Dean crashed into the side of the van and threw open the passenger side door. Sam hurled himself into the driver's seat. Liv shrieked in surprise, and then was thrown to the floor when the van sped forward.

"Where's Bobby?" she yelled.

"There!" Dean shouted, pointing at the side of the building. Sam pulled up, about twenty yards from the door that Bobby had burst through.

"Bobby!" Sam called. "Come on, come on, come on!"

Bobby slid open the side door and crawled inside. Behind him, Liv saw a man with bizarre, smoking wounds on the side of his face.

"Go, go!" Bobby yelled.

Liv heard a gunshot and yelped, ducking her head behind the seat in front of her. Two more shots rang out.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean said, breathlessly. "I'm glad you got in. He almost took your freaking head off."

Liv looked around the van. Something wasn't right. Bobby was on the ground, not moving. Something trickled down the side of her face and when she reached up to touch it, her fingers came away stained bright red.

"Hey, Bobby," Sam said. "Your hat." He held up the hat and started to pass it back, but Bobby didn't respond.

"Dean?" Liv said in a quavering voice. "Dean!"

A single, narrow beam of light streamed through the hole in Bobby's hat. A bullet hole. Sam and Dean looked back and saw Liv; her face was splattered with blood - Bobby's blood.

"Bobby? Oh, God, Bobby? Bobby?" Sam cried out.

"Bobby?!" Dean shouted.

But he didn't answer, and the floor of the van began to disappear beneath a widening puddle of his blood.


	24. Chapter 24

**Thank you so much to my newest followers and a big, special thank you to my reviewers! Reviews are a great motivator! This was a tough chapter to write because Bobby is my all-time favorite character. :(**

* * *

They reached the nearest hospital in record time. Liv tumbled around the back of the van, trying to stay upright through each wild twist and turn Dean made. She cradled Bobby's head in her hands, struggling to keep him steady. Her tears were a constant stream that dropped onto his face and trickled down his cheeks, mixing with the blood that oozed from the wound in his temple and created delicate swirls of pink and crimson.

Sam crouched beside them, anxiously searching for Bobby's pulse and relentlessly urging Dean to drive faster.

"Sam, is he dead?" Dean shouted from the front of the van.

"I'm checking," Sam answered.

Liv sobbed despondently and crouched closer to Bobby's broken head, trying to see how damaged it was by the bullet.

"There's not much blood," Liv said, her voice trembling. "Is that bad?"

Sam nodded. "That's good, I think. Or, maybe it's bad. It's either one or the other," he said, his voice cracking.

Liv moaned and brushed Bobby's hair away from the bullet hole.

"Is he dead?!" Dean shouted again, more urgently.

"Just drive, Dean," Sam yelled. "Bobby!"

"You gotta talk to me, Sam!" Dean said. The van careened around a narrow curve and Liv thought she felt the wheels lifting, canting them all to one side.

"Alright, he's breathing," Sam answered. "There's a pulse."

Liv's fingers shook as she wiped away a trail of blood that had run across Bobby's right eyelid. "I don't know what to do, Sam. What should I do?" she asked, frantically.

"Keep him upright," Dean said. "Stop the bleeding."

Sam's voice was impatient and nearing anger. "I'm not an idiot, Dean! I know first aid for a friggin' bullet to the head!"

"I need the nearest trauma center," Dean said into his phone.

Liv turned away from Bobby and reached over the driver's seat. "Give me the phone, Dean. I'll talk to them."

"I've got it," he snapped before yelling into the phone, again. "What's the address?!"

"Hold on. Hold on," Sam was whispering to Bobby.

Dean dropped the phone and turned back to the rode. The van lurched forwarded at a frightening speed. "Alright, Bobby, hang in there," he said.

Liv slipped both hands beneath Bobby's head, again. The bullet wound looked huge and utterly destructive - something she would never have imagined could be healed. A fresh wave of chaotic despair overwhelmed her and she doubled over again, weeping.

* * *

Her feelings of incompetence and hopelessness were far from alleviated upon reaching the hospital. The nurses and doctors rushed to their aid, hastening Bobby onto a bed and wheeling him into the ER with a fervent rapidity that only amplified her fear that he was in dire straits.

Liv stood behind Dean, clutching the back of his jacket and listening to a blonde nurse bark out directives and vital signs with remarkable efficiency.

"Gunshot wound to the right frontal area, no exit wound found. Breathing spontaneously. Respiratory rate 18 and shallow. RST at 120. BP 90 over 60. GCS 5."

Liv had no idea what most of it meant, but the grim expressions on the faces of the entire medical staff in attendance weren't reassuring.

"Push 80 grams of Mannitol over 30; prep for intubation," the doctor instructed the nurses who were all bustling around the bed, each busy with their own multitude of tasks.

"Air entry clear to bases," the nurse said.

"Let's get a central line in here, now," the doctor continued shouting out directions.

Liv watched fearfully, her eyes wide and glassy.

"What's happening?" Sam asked. "Please just tell us…"

The doctor looked over at them, briefly, before ordering the nurse to send them out.

"Sorry," the nurse said, abruptly. "You need to stay out of their way."

"That's our uncle," Dean said, hoarsely.

"You've got to stay back," was the nurse's only answer.

"What are they doing?" Sam asked, ignoring.

"We need to get him stable," she said, still trying to usher them away from the bed.

"Okay, when are you gonna take the bullet out?" Dean asked.

The nurse sighed. "If we can get the swelling down, if it's in a place we can get to, if -."

"If he even lives that long," Sam finished for her.

The nurse didn't answer, but pulled the curtain shut and disappeared behind it, leaving the three of them standing there, speechless.

* * *

A tense hour later, Liv sat on a stool in the corner of Bobby's hospital room. His head was wrapped in clean, cotton bandages and his face had been washed clean. She looked down at her hands and saw that they, and her jeans, were still stained with his blood. She wiped her palms against her legs but it wouldn't rub off.

Bobby had crashed once more but after another 30 milligrams of Mannitol, which she'd learned was a drug they were using to treat the bleeding in his brain and the tissue surrounding it, he was once again stable.

"He's stable for the moment," the doctor told Sam and Dean. "Just have to see."

Liv watched him as he spoke but didn't find any comfort in his words; even he didn't sound encouraged by them. She turned back to her hands and picked at the dried blood, struggling to contain the tears that threatened to reappear.

* * *

The night passed slowly and torturously. Liv couldn't speak to Dean or Sam, and they didn't appear to have any real desire to speak to her. The three of them kept mostly to themselves, taking turns standing at Bobby's side and fetching coffee from the machine in the lobby.

Liv witnessed several people come into the emergency room, most of them with minor injuries. Almost all of them left as she stood watch. A young boy with a nasty looking scrape on his arm, a woman in labor who was rushed to the maternity ward, an older man with chest pains, and two car accident victims came and went. Two patients stayed and were given their own rooms, like Bobby. One person, a woman who had been a passenger with the other car accident victims, died before she could be moved to the operating room. Liv wept for her, and her mother who had shown up within minutes of her arrival.

At some point, when the emergency room had fallen into a kind of quiet interim, she fell asleep on the floor, tucked into the corner of the waiting room with her arms wrapped around her knees. When she woke, Dean's jacket was nestled around her and sunlight streamed in through the windows. She stood slowly, her knees and back creaking, and hurried out of the waiting room to look for them.

She found them both standing just inside Bobby's room. Nothing appeared to have changed while she slept.

"So, there's nothing else we can do?" Sam was speaking to the doctor, with Dean beside him.

"I'm sorry," the doctor answered. "We just have to wait. We'll see if the swelling goes down."

"How long?" Dean asked.

The doctor looked haggard. Liv felt for him, after the night he'd been through. "It's hard to say in cases like this," he said.

Dean shook his head, impatiently. "Well, he's lasted this long. That's something, right?"

The doctor nodded. "Well, yes. Listen, the bullet didn't shatter. Only one hemisphere of his brain was injured. These are all positive things. But… I don't want to give you false hope here. He's far from out of the woods. Most of the time, cases like this…" he trailed off. Liv could see how badly he didn't want to finish the sentence.

"They die," Sam said, shortly.

"Right now, it comes down to him. I'll keep you updated," the doctor said before leaving the room.

Liv smiled up at Dean and handed him his jacket. She considered the doctor's words, and tried to see them as positive encouragement. He'd said it was up to Bobby, and Bobby was probably the strongest man she knew, second only to Dean. If anyone could survive, it was him. She was about to say so when a man approached them and cut off her words.

"Excuse me. Sorry to interrupt. Is one of you Robert Singer's next of kin?" the man asked, cautiously.

Liv smiled, not knowing what to expect from him. "We kind of all are. Why do you ask?"

"Would you come with me, please?" the man asked, and beckoned them into the hallway. Dean followed but Sam stayed in the room.

"I'll keep an eye on him, okay?" he said.

Liv nodded and squeezed his arm, trying to pass along some hopeful energy, and hurried to catch up with Dean.

"We know this is a stressful time," the man was saying as she approached.

"Yeah, okay, no offense - you can skip the garnish. What, did his insurance lapse or what?" Dean asked, shortly.

Liv could see that the man wasn't there about insurance. The nametag he wore proclaimed him a member of the hospitals grief counseling department. She glanced back and forth between him and Dean and steeled herself for an altercation; she didn't expect Dean would have a good reaction to what was about to happen.

"We're sorry to ask but um… did your uncle ever make his wishes known in regards to organ donation? Organs are only viable for a very limited window-."

Liv cringed at the words; she could feel the anger radiating off of Dean's body in hot, menacing waves.

"Viable?" Dean said, his voice hard and steady.

Liv could see that the man had no idea how close to danger he actually was. "We're just hoping some good can come of this tragic-" he began but Dean interrupted.

"Listen to me. I'm gonna say this once. He's not gonna die. It's one bullet. He's gonna be fine because he's always fine."

"I apologize," the man said, but Dean was far from finished.

"Why are you talking to me like he's gonna die, huh?" he demanded. "I do my job; do your jobs. Save him!"

The man seemed to have lost any trace of courage he'd had. "Of course they're doing everything they can," he stammered.

Dean silenced the man by smashing his fist into a glass sign on the wall beside them.

"Dean!" Liv yelped. Fragments of glass cascaded off of the sign and onto the floor. Blood trailed down the wall.

"Walk away from me. Now!" Dean shouted. The man hurried away, down the hallway, and disappeared through an open doorway.

"Jesus, Dean, look at your hand!" Liv said. She reached for his hand, which was still clenched in a tight fist, but he snatched it away.

"Not now, Liv," he said, darkly, before turning and storming away. She watched him slap open the door, sending in a stream of sunlight, and step outside.

Dejected, Liv stared at the door and debated whether or not she should follow him. A nurse cautiously approached her with a small broom and dustpan and swept up the shards of glass on the floor.

"I'm really sorry," Liv whispered.

"It's okay, honey," the nurse said. "It's a hard conversation to have."

"Is that man going to come back? I just don't think it's a good idea if… well, you know," Liv asked. She didn't want Dean anywhere nearby when the topic of organ donation came up, again.

The nurse nodded. "He'll need to get the information, at some point."

"Can I talk to him, instead?"

"Of course," the nurse answered. "I'll call him back and you two can talk before your friend comes back."

Liv met with the man in the ER waiting room; it was a quick conversation. No, Bobby wouldn't be donating any organs. Yes, they understood that he could be saving the lives of several people. Yes, his nephews were aware of and supported her decision. No, they wouldn't reconsider. The only excuse she could think of was religious belief; if she'd told him she was afraid Bobby's organs might tie him to the earth, as a spirit, she was certain she'd end up in the psychiatric ward. She signed the paperwork just as Dean came into the room.

He approached them with a surly frown and glared at the man, who gathered his paperwork and hurried away without saying goodbye.

"What was that about?" Dean asked.

Liv shrugged. "I just signed the papers, that's all."

"What did you say?"

"I said no, of course," Liv said, carefully. He was still angry, perhaps even angrier than he'd been before he left her in the hallway.

He nodded. "He's not going to die, anyway."

Liv wanted to be as sure as he sounded, but she couldn't. "I know," she said, without much conviction. "Do you need stitches?"

Dean lifted his hand and glanced at the jagged cuts across his knuckles and fingers. "Nah. Where's Sam?"

Liv pointed toward Bobby's room. She knew better than to argue with Dean about having his hand looked at, but she couldn't help feeling angry at him for being so outrageously impulsive, and stupid on top of it.

"Don't tell him about that asshole, okay?" he said.

"Okay," Liv answered. She tried to smile up at him but she suddenly felt exhausted.

He crouched down and rested his hands on her knees. "How're you doing?" he asked.

Liv shook her head. She could think of a million answers to his question but a hard, dry knot had formed in her throat and wouldn't let her speak. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck, seeking his warmth and comfort. Rough, hacking sobs burst out of her and she shook with the effort of trying to suppress them.

Dean held her tightly. "Hey," he whispered into her hair. "He's gonna be fine, okay? It's Bobby, for Christ's sake, Bobby _can't_ die! And, he'd be fuckin' pissed if he knew you were thinking he might."

Liv nodded and stifled a snicker. "You're right, I know," she said, pulling back.

He reached up and wiped away the fresh tears on her cheeks and grinned; she appreciated the effort but she could still see how pained and tense his smile was.

"I gotta go talk to Sammy. I'll be back in a few, alright?"

"Okay," she said. She still felt empty and her chest ached but she didn't want him to be there if the tears returned. He was struggling to be strong, she could see it, and she didn't want to discourage him any more than she already had. "Go ahead, I'm totally fine. I promise," she urged, when he hesitated.

"Okay, baby," he finally said and dropped a kiss on her forehead. Liv watched him leave the waiting room and stop at the coffee machine in the hallway. He smiled back at her, again, before stepping out of her line of sight.

* * *

"Are you doing okay?" Liv asked. Sam had finally left Bobby's room and was sitting next to her with half of a chicken salad sandwich in one hand. She'd insisted they all eat something; it had been at least twenty hours since they'd had any food. Unfortunately, her appetite had entirely disappeared and she found herself tipping her sandwich into the trash can when no one was looking. That wouldn't stop her from encouraging them, though.

Sam took a bite and chewed slowly, wrinkling his nose.

"Other than this sandwich, I'm doing okay, I guess," he answered.

Liv laughed, softly. "I'm sorry. They didn't have anything else."

He shrugged and dropped the rest of the sandwich onto its wrapper on the table. "It's fine. I don't think anything would taste good right now."

"I know what you mean," she said, though she doubted she'd turn down a margarita or even a shot of whiskey if someone had offered it.

"Dean is completely in denial," Sam said.

Liv didn't want to talk about it; she felt like she was being disrespectful of Dean by discussing him when he wasn't around but she couldn't deny the truth in Sam's words.

"I know he is," she said.

"I don't know how to make him understand that Bobby might not get out of this," he said, shaking his head. "They want to do surgery on Bobby; it might affect his memory. Hell, it probably will. So, at the very least, there's that to deal with."

"How bad will it be?" she asked, terrified of his answer.

"They don't even know. Until they open him up, they can't really tell how much damage there is. He could be a completely different person. He could end up a vegetable for the rest of his life."

Liv couldn't think of anything to say to that. She didn't want to think of Bobby that way.

"When do they want to do surgery?" she finally asked.

"Now," Dean answered as he stepped into the room. "Come on, they're about to take him back."

The three of them hurried to Bobby's room where a nurse was waiting to take him to the operating room.

"Sorry," she said. "We need to get moving."

"Yeah," Sam said. "Right." He stepped closer to Bobby's bed and reached down to take his hand. "Hey um… Bobby… hey… Just, thanks… for everything," he said, unsteadily. He let go of Bobby's hand and patted it gently.

"Alright," the nurse said. "Please step back." She started unplugging the various tubes and cords that spanned across and behind the bed.

"Yeah," Dean said, and stepped back. Liv held tightly to his hand and stood close to him. His fingers tightened around hers as the nurse began to move Bobby's bed.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait!" Sam shouted, suddenly. "Stop! His eyes are open!"

Bobby's hand reached out and latched onto Sam's, holding him in place.

"Bobby?" Dean cried out and hurried to the bed.

"Hey," Sam said, and placed his other hand on Bobby's shoulder.

"Bobby," Liv said, choking back a rush of tears.

Bobby reached up and tugged away the mask that covered his mouth and nose. His gaze passed over the three of them, earnestly. Liv could see that he had something to tell them, something important.

"What… don't talk. Don't talk," Dean said and turned to the nurse who stood in the doorway. "A pen - ." he said, scanning the room. He grabbed Bobby's chart from the end of the bed and grabbed the pen, before passing it to Sam.

"Here. Here, here, here…," he said.

Sam handed the pen to Bobby who began to scrawl something onto Sam's palm. Liv struggled to read it but could only make out a few numbers from her position near the foot of the bed.

Bobby finished writing and Liv's spirits rose when he managed a weak, brief smile. He opened his mouth to speak and they all leaned in closer.

"Idjits," he said in the faintest whisper. Liv nearly laughed but her hopes were dashed into a million pieces a second later when he collapsed back against the pillow. The monitors began to screech behind him as all their readings dropped to zero.

"Bobby?" Dean said, desperately. "Hey!"

Liv, Sam, and Dean were forced out of the room by a rush of nurses and doctors who circled the bed, scurrying around Bobby like ants on a piece of candy. It was no use, though.

When the doctor came out to the waiting room, ten minutes later, to break the news, Liv's first asinine thought was to be thankful that she'd signed the papers declining organ donation when she had.


	25. Chapter 25

The first week after Bobby's death was like living in a funeral home. They barely spoke; perhaps three or four words passed between the three of them on any given day. Liv and Dean slept on opposite sides of their bed, with her curled up into a ball and him on his side, facing away, and teetering on the edge. She found herself apologizing anytime she accidentally brushed up against him.

Sam tried the hardest to return to some semblance of normality but his efforts were short-lived. They ate take-out, researched the numbers that Bobby had written onto Sam's hand, and sat in silence, pretending to watch television.

The second week was much like the first. The boys threw themselves into the five numbers, spending every waking hour searching for any scrap of information that would provide a clue as what the numbers actually meant. Everything came up empty. It wasn't a zip code, a password, a bank account number… It meant nothing, as far as they could see.

They spoke more often in the second week, but it was all about the numbers. Liv was beginning to worry that they might actually be nothing but the muddled ramblings of a dying man. Dean ignored her suggestion that Bobby might not have been in the right state of mind during those few brief seconds and Sam couldn't be convinced either, though he did listen to her with at least a modicum of interest. It didn't matter, though. They couldn't be persuaded to give up the search and Dean insisted on calling Frank, one of Bobby's contacts.

By the third week, their loss was beginning to take on a kind of awkward normalcy. Liv didn't wake up every day with the echo of grief ringing in her ears. Dean was able to touch her without either of them wincing at the pain of personal affection. Sam finally left the cabin and went on a supply run, returning with fresh food that didn't need reheated in the microwave. It was a painful existence but they were able to manage. It was both a relief and frightening to Liv; she didn't want to accept a world without Bobby in it, but she also didn't want to live in the same state of dismal melancholy forever.

While the search for the meaning of Bobby's numbers had turned up nothing, Sam and Dean had only increased their fervency. Dean set up a bulletin board and began charting and mapping everything he could find on Roman Enterprises, Biggerson's, and Dick Roman, himself. Liv wanted them to find something; she was tired of sitting and waiting for something to happen.

Liv and Dean were in the kitchen one afternoon when Sam brought up an issue that she hadn't even considered.

"Dean, Liv… You know, um… I wonder if… if we… I mean, should we be telling people? I mean, people he knew," Sam said, haltingly.

Dean ignored him. "How long ago did I give Frank these numbers? It's been a few weeks, right? What, is he nuts or is he just being rude?"

Sam looked at Liv, pleadingly, but she didn't know what to say. Dean was stubborn; he wouldn't talk about it if he didn't want to. She only shrugged.

"Probably both," Sam said. "Dean, I asked you a question."

"Unless, of course," Dean went on, almost rambling, "something happened to him. He can't get to the phone because a Leviathan ate his face."

"Yeah, also a possibility," Sam answered.

"Why do you think this guy can help?" Liv asked. She had only heard them talk about Frank a few times, and never in detail.

"He's a technological genius," Dean answered. "If those numbers are important at all, he'll find out."

Sam nodded. "He's a hacker. He can get into Roman's files and find anything. But he's only helpful if he keeps in touch."

"We should go check on him," Dean said, suddenly.

"Dean, do you want to call Bobby's people or not?" Sam demanded.

Dean scowled. "Why is that our job?"

"Because who else is gonna do it?" Sam asked, sarcastically.

Dean shook his head and scoffed. "I'm not calling anybody. If you want to, you go right ahead."

"I don't want to call anybody. You kidding me?" Sam said.

Before Dean, or Liv, could respond, a phone started to ring. Liv glanced around the room, searching for the source. It was coming from one of Bobby's duffel bags, on the table.

Sam quickly found the phone and answered it, his eyebrows furrowed together.

"Hello?" he said into the phone.

Liv couldn't hear whoever was on the other end but she understood, from Sam's side, that he or she had to have been looking for Bobby.

"Uh, no… He's uh… It's not, but I'm a friend of his," Sam said, hesitantly.

Dean pulled Bobby's flask from the duffel bag and inspected it.

"He's… not here. But, look, if you need so-," Sam started to say but stopped, mid-sentence.

"Who was it?" Dean asked, after Sam hung up.

"Just some kid," Sam answered, looking befuddled.

"Why would a kid be calling?" Liv asked.

"For Bobby?" Dean asked. "Girl scout cookies?"

Sam shook his head. "I think maybe... Maybe a hunter's kid? I mean, she sounded pretty scared. You know, I have a caller ID. Maybe we should go find her. We… we can check on her," he said.

"What about Frank?" Dean asked.

"She might need help," Liv said. She remembered being young, when her father would go on hunts. Bobby had been her friend; he'd been a comfort. What if Bobby had played the same role in this girl's life?

"Well, Dean, I think we should go find this girl first," Sam agreed with Liv.

"Guys, Frank's been working on the numbers that Bobby spent his last breath on, and you want to back-burner that?" Dean asked, incredulously.

Neither Sam, nor Liv, responded.

"Fine, you two go check out girl scout. I'll find Frank," Dean finally said.

"You want me to go with Sam?" Liv asked. Normally, she would stick with Dean and she wasn't entirely sure how she felt about this abrupt change.

"Yeah, kids like women. Maybe she'll feel better talking to you," he said, shrugging.

"Fine," Sam said. "But you know what? On one condition - if Frank is just spinning his wheels, then you bail out on crazy and come meet us."

Dean nodded and picked up his beer bottle. A few drops sloshed around the bottom.

"And thanks for drinking my entire beer," he grumbled.

"I didn't touch your beer," Sam answered, motioning toward his own bottle on the table. "Mine's right there. You probably drank it without noticing."

"I don't even like beer," Liv said, holding up her hands, when Dean turned his glare on her.

"Right," Dean said, turning away.

* * *

"So… what does your dad sell?" Liv asked the girl. Her name was Krissy; she hadn't been too keen on letting them know but Sam had pressed and finally she'd given it up. She was maybe fourteen or fifteen, surly but smart, kind of tough. Nothing like Liv, if she was being honest.

"Tires," Krissy answered from behind her book.

"Hmm. Tires," Liv said. She'd been trying to make friendly conversation for the past three days, since Sam had left her there. It was Dean's idea, of course. He made it out like he was worried about the kid and didn't want her left on her own for any longer, but Liv saw through it. He didn't want her on a hunt. It was the same routine and she was used to it, but that didn't mean it didn't still bother her. She did find out where Sam was headed, thought she had been made to promise she wouldn't tell the girl, no matter what. Sam kept her updated, mostly because Dean didn't seem too interested in the case, at all.

"Yep," Krissy said when Liv didn't continue.

"My dad was a salesman, too," Liv said, idly. She was bored and she missed Dean. Hell, she missed Sam. And, of course, she missed Bobby. She didn't want to be in an unknown apartment, doing nothing. Being useless, as usual. She wanted to help and she was getting restless.

Krissy had peered out from behind the pages, looking curious for the first time since they'd met.

"A real salesman? Or a… you know… _salesman_ salesman," the girl asked.

Liv narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean by that?" she asked, cautiously.

Krissy's eyes widened. "You know what I mean, don't you? You know what I'm talking about! Your dad was a hunter. And…" She sat upright. "And so is Sam!"

Liv looked around the room, as though someone might be there to hear them. Of course, the apartment was empty, other than the two of them.

"Your dad told you about hunting, didn't he?"

Krissy nodded, swiftly. "Since my mom died, I've known everything. He said it was more dangerous not to tell me."

Liv let out a heavy sigh. "I don't know about that, but I can't believe he left you here. You're just a kid!"

"Hey," Krissy said, indignantly. "I'm fifteen! I can take care of myself. I just wish he'd let me go with him. I could have helped." She frowned then, her forehead wrinkled with concern.

Liv couldn't suppress a smile. She knew exactly how the girl felt. She was feeling it, too.

"Don't worry, okay? Sam is great, seriously. He's one of the best. He'll find your dad," Liv said, trying to sound sure of herself and of Sam.

"Oh yeah?" Krissy said, cynically. "Then why hasn't he checked in for over a day? How many times have you called and gotten no answer?"

Liv frowned. Had it really been that long? She picked up her cell phone and dialed Sam's number. When it went straight to voicemail, she immediately called Dean. Again, she got no answer.

"Hey, baby. Sam's been gone for three days and he hasn't called in over a day. I've called _him_ a few times and just got voicemail. He told me where he's going so I think I'm gonna go see if I can find him -," Liv said into her phone.

"I'm going with you!" Krissy shouted, but Liv shook her head furiously and held up one hand.

"-I'll be careful, I promise, and I won't do anything stupid. I'm just going to check out the area. Call me when you get this," Liv finished, ending the call.

"I'm going," Krissy said, brashly. Her cheeks were tinted bright pink.

"Absolutely not," Liv answered. She was happy to be doing something, even if it wasn't the smartest plan, but she had to get out of the apartment. Sam wasn't answering, Dean wasn't answering… That left her to make the hard decisions and she'd just decided. She scooped up her bag and dropped her phone into the opening. "I know it's shitty being left behind but I have no idea what I'm doing and I can't risk you, too. Stay here. I'll call you."

"What if you don't?" Krissy asked, angrily.

"Then, call the number Sam gave you. I don't know how much good it'll do you, though, since Dean isn't answering. But try. Give me a few hours, maybe half a day. I'm gonna have to rent a car or something but, I promise, I'll keep in touch," Liv said.

"Wait," Krissy said, just as Liv was about to close the door behind her. She sounded disappointed but resigned. "You can take my dad's other car. It's in the parking garage." She hurried to the kitchen counter and grabbed a set a keys from a rack on the wall. "Here. Don't get too excited, though. It's a 1989 Mazda."

"Thanks," Liv said, grinning. She didn't care what kind of car it was; she just felt good to be doing something. Plus, she hadn't been allowed to drive in weeks.

* * *

The last time Liv had spoken to Sam, he told her he was going to check out a truck stop just outside of Dodge City. She couldn't remember the name, if he'd even mentioned it, but after picking up a map she was able to pinpoint the town and, ultimately, narrow down her options to two diners.

The first stop she visited was almost empty. There were two rigs in the parking lot and four cars. Stepping inside, the dingy, little restaurant held only half a dozen tables and a short counter with four stools. It was run by a single man who took orders, cooked, and delivered food. He shook his head and shrugged when she showed him a photograph of Sam. Liv was discouraged but not surprised. The place was far too small to house a monster without notice.

The second truck stop was louder, bigger, and busier. Liv parked the Mazda, which let out a large cough as she shut off the engine, and hurried up the stairs to the door. She passed a pretty, brown-haired prostitute with bright red lipstick on her way, who flashed her shy smile. Liv returned the smile, hoping she wasn't giving off the wrong idea and wouldn't have to deal with an awkward proposition on her way out.

The waitress inside wore a nametag with the name 'Marlene' stamped across it. She was friendly, perky, and blonde - exactly the type of woman Liv expected to find. Her pleasant attitude and appearance probably netted her great tips from the truckers, Liv thought. She immediately recognized Sam.

"Oh yeah, that handsome fella. He was here a few days ago. I sent him out to talk to Dan, one of our regulars. He hasn't been back since. Do you want me to take you to Dan?" Marlene asked with a cheerful grin. "I think he's out there napping in his rig. He might know which way your friend was headed."

Liv was thrilled; she hadn't expected it to be so easy. "That would be great, if you have time," she said, anxiously.

"Oh sure, sugar. Let me just tell my boss I'm taking a quick break. Meet me outside in five," Marlene said and stepped into the kitchen.

Outside, Liv pulled her phone out of her bag and dialed Krissy's number. The girl answered on the first ring.

"Did you find him?"

"Not yet but I have a good lead. I'm at a truck stop on Interstate 9 just outside of Dodge City. A waitress here saw Sam and there's another guy here who might know where he went. Hey, let me call you back in like ten minutes, okay?" Liv said, shortly. Marlene had just stepped out of the diner and was waiting on the bottom stair.

"Okay. Call me back, right away. Okay?" Krissy said. She didn't sound any less worried than when Liv had left.

"I will, I promise. Ten minutes, okay? That's all." Liv hung up the phone and smiled up at Marlene. "I'm ready when you are."

Marlene started across the parking lot, into the maze of big rigs that were parked in diagonal parallels across the pavement. She weaved through several of them, finally stopping in the last row. Liv squinted in the darkness; she hadn't realized it was nearly evening and the further they got from the diner, the less light reached between the trucks.

"This is it," Marlene said, coolly.

"This truck?" Liv asked, pointing at the one in front of them. "He's in here?"

Marlene didn't answer but continued to smile at her. As Liv watched, the waitress's eyes shifted; the pupils narrowed and elongated until they resembled a cats. Sharp, vicious looking fangs slid into view from behind her lips.

"Oh shit…" Liv mumbled. Behind her, she heard the light tapping of high heels on cement. She whirled around and saw the prostitute from the front of the diner. Her eyes had taken on the same shape as the waitress's and her teeth had also morphed into two rows of razor sharp fangs.

"You do this one," the hooker simpered. "I don't like girl-meat."

Marlene shrugged and lunged forward, latching onto Liv's shoulders and twisting her neck to the side.

"It's all the same to me," Marlene purred before burying her teeth in Liv's neck.

The world around them grew hazy and off-balance. Liv felt like the light was growing dimmer and the ground teetered one direction and then another. Her eyes grew heavy and each time she blinked, it was more and more difficult to force them open. She slowly crumpled to the ground and, the next time she closed her eyes, they didn't reopen.

* * *

When Liv came to, she was tied to a chair in a large room that looked like an abandoned mechanical shop. It was dark, though. The only light was what filtered in from the streetlamps outside. The first thing she saw, through the blurry fog of venom that still clung to her senses and the thick tangle of hair that fell in her face and obscured her view, was a dead man, lying on the floor to her right. His eyes were open wide and his face was a pale, bluish green.

"Oh, shit," Liv moaned. Her head ached and she couldn't remember ever feeling so dizzy.

"Hey, it's okay. You're okay," a familiar voice reassured her.

Liv raised her head, slowly, wincing at even that tiny move and came face to face with Sam. His throat was smeared with blood and he didn't look much better than she felt, but he was alive.

"Sam!" she cried out. "You're alive!" Liv almost wept with relief.

"Yeah, I'm alive. For now. But we have to get out of here. And, how did you get here anyway? Where's Krissy?" Sam demanded. He sounded angry, Liv realized. Weak, but definitely angry.

"Is she here?" a man asked. He was also tied to a chair on the other side of Sam. Liv hadn't noticed him at first but she quickly recognized him as Krissy's father, Lee.

"No, she's still home. I told her to stay there. When you didn't call us back, we got worried. And Dean's not answering his phone so I came to find you. Dammit!" Liv cursed at herself. "I fucked up, didn't I?"

Sam shook his head. "No more than I did. Neither of us had good information."

"None of us did," Lee added.

Liv shook her head, trying to clear the fog that lingered. She saw that Sam's hands were tied behind his back, as hers were. She tugged on the bindings, twisting her hands in every direction, but the ropes only seemed to tighten.

"Hey, hey! Stop, stop… Someone's coming!" Sam whispered, harshly.

On the other side of the room, a door crashed open and the prostitute, who Liv now saw wore a tacky, gold necklace. The necklace was molded into a name - Sally. She sauntered over to them, smiling wickedly.

"Hunter day at the all-you-can-eat. How's everyone feeling? Good?"

Liv glared up at her. None of them responded.

"Strong silent. Fine. I don't need much entertainment with my meal," Sally leered. She stalked over to Lee and leaned down, bringing her lips to his neck which was already ravaged by hers and Marlene's fangs.

"Hey, Sally," Sam suddenly said, interrupting her. "Uh… did I ever tell you about the Vetalas I took down in Utah? Yeah. You remind me of them. Except they were so much… younger."

Liv's eyes widened. He was taunting it. But, why?

Sally left Lee's side and sidled up to Sam, her smile just barely faltering.

"I tied them up," Sam continued. "Not because I had to. More so… I could take my time."

The Vetala's lips twisted into an angry grimace. "You're lying," she said, venomously.

"No. I just wanted you to know how much I enjoyed cutting up your sisters," Sam said. Liv couldn't believe it. He was actually smiling up at the monster.

"Shut up!" Sally shouted and wrenched his head back. She buried her face in his throat and fed.

"Stop it!" Liv shrieked, but the Vetala ignored her. Liv screamed until Sally stepped back, grinning at her. Sam's eyes had closed and his head hung limply. Liv prayed that he had only passed out.

"I don't normally do this but you're just too loud, sweetheart," Sally said and crouched beside Liv. She lowered her mouth to Liv's neck.

Liv tried to twist away but the Vetala was so strong. She felt the fangs slide into her flesh, ripping open the marks that had only just started to heal. The venom hit her instantly; the darkened room faded away.

"See you later," Sally said, as she stood, and ambled out of the building, her hips swaying, seductively. Liv passed out before she could formulate a witty comeback.

* * *

When Liv woke again, both of the Vetalas had returned with another unconscious man. They had strapped him into a chair and tying his hands behind his back, like the others. Sam was still out but Lee was awake, just barely, and watched them with hatred in his eyes.

"Good thing we picked up a new one," Marlene said. "This one's about tapped out. You want to finish him together?" She motioned toward Lee, who looked weaker than before.

"Sure," Sally answered. "Love to."

Sally began to advance on Lee but suddenly Dean was there with a heavy metal bar in one hand. He swung it at Sally; it connected solidly with her head and she fell to the ground. Dean whipped out his knife as Marlene approached him.

"Dean!" Liv tried to yell but something was still wrong with her voice. It was tired sounding, and feeble.

"Not so fast," Marlene threatened him. She swung at him, knocking the knife from his hand. An instant later, she had him pinned to the wall of a metal cage behind him.

Liv watched helplessly as the Vetala held him there, her fingers tightening around his throat.

"On the counter! Beside you!" Liv called out, hoarsely. Her voice was still too weak but he must have heard her. He grabbed a crowbar from the counter and swung. It collided with Marlene's face and she dropped him. Dean snatched up his knife and held it to her throat, preparing to finish her off, but Krissy ran across the room, distracting them all.

"Dad, I got you!" Krissy called, and started to hurry toward her father. Sally woke, just as she was running by, and grabbed her leg.

"No!" Lee shouted, but it was too late. Sally had wrapped an arm around Krissy's throat and had pulled her away.

"Let her go," Sally demanded. "Or Little Miss Sunshine here gets it." Her eyes shifted into menacing slits and her fangs extended.

Dean lowered his knife and Marlene darted away to stand beside Sally and behind Lee.

Liv struggled with the ropes behind her back, but they were far too tight for her to pull free.

"What were you thinking, bringing her here?" Lee asked. His expression was pained and distressed.

Dean didn't answer. He took a step closer to Sally, who still held Krissy, but she stopped him.

"Now drop the knife!" she shouted.

Dean complied, irately. The knife clattered into place on the ground in front of Sam.

"She's just a child," he said, reasonably. "Let her go."

"Yeah, I don't think we'll be letting anyone go," Sally answered.

"Daddy…" Krissy called softly.

Lee looked up at her. "It's okay, baby. Everything's gonna be fine."

"Alright," Marlene snapped. "Enough with the family bonding. It's time for you to shut up." She sank her fangs into Lee's neck and began to feed. Fresh blood spilled done his throat and onto his shirt.

"Daddy, no!" Krissy shrieked. "Dean!"

"He can't help you," Sally taunted. "No one can."

"I guess I'll have to help myself, then," Krissy said. She twisted away from Sally's grasp and plunged a knife into the Vetala's chest, twisting the blade. Sally withered into a dusty, dry, husk before their eyes and fell to the ground.

Marlene leapt away from Lee and charged at Dean. He snatched up his knife.

Still stuck in her chair, Liv could think of only one thing to do. "Hey, bitch!" she shouted. She had nothing to follow up with but it was enough. The Vetala paused, distracted, and turned to her with a blood stained sneer. It gave Krissy just enough time to slice apart the ropes holding Sam in place. He took the knife from her and lunged forward, burying it in Marlene's torso. A second later, she fell to the ground, desiccated.

Dean hurried over to Liv and cut away the ropes. Krissy did the same for her father.

"Bad actress, huh?" Krissy said, smiling at Dean.

"Yeah, I take it back," he answered. He helped Liv to her feet and pulled her into his arms. She was grateful for the support; after sitting for so long, and the venom that still lingered in her bloodstream, she felt like she might fall down. "You, on the other hand, are in big trouble," he said, sternly, but he followed it with such a sweet kiss that she doubted there was any real weight behind his threat.

* * *

"Is she gonna be okay?" Liv asked. A bandage was taped over the wound on her throat but she felt almost completely better. Sam and Dean sat in the front of the car. They had just said goodbye to Krissy and her father while Liv waited.

"Yeah, she'll be fine," Dean answered.

Liv took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She had something to say, something that had been niggling at her for a while, but she was afraid of how Dean would react.

"Listen," she began, carefully. "I think it's time you guys taught me how to fight. If I'm going to be here, with you, then I need to be able to defend myself."

Sam looked back at her and smiled. "She's right, you know," he said, turning to Dean.

"Yeah, yeah," Dean grumbled. "But just so you know, it's not gonna be easy or fun."

Liv leaned back in the seat, surprised that it had been so simple but uneasy, all the same. Now that it was going to happen, she was starting to realize how difficult Dean could make the process.


	26. Chapter 26

**Hey guys! This is a loooooooooong chapter! Sorry about that! I try really hard to keep everything as close as possible to the episodes, making tiny changes to include Liv. I hope it doesn't seem like I'm just writing out each episode. :/ Anyway, as I mentioned before, the Amazon women happened earlier in the season, for the purposes of this story. Also, this is all going on in season 7, and we all know how that ends! :o Expect some craziness in the coming chapters.**

 **I'd like to thank my new followers and especially my new reviewers! Reviews really are the best way to show your appreciation for a story and that you're enjoying it - not just for my stories but for all of the writers! We love reviews, I swear! Good, bad, whatever! We love them and appreciate all feedback!**

* * *

"Son of a _bitch_ ," Liv hollered, cradling her right fist against her chest.

"Mother _fucker_ ," Dean shouted at the exact same time. He was double over with both hands cupping his nose. Blood poured out from between his fingers and ran down his chin, splattering the ground beneath him. "What the hell was _that_?!"

"Ow, ow, ow, ow," Liv chanted, hopping up and down on both feet.

Sam burst out of the cabin and hurried down the stairs. "What's going on out here?" he demanded.

"She punched me!" Dean yelled, pointing at Liv.

"You _told_ me to punch you!" Liv returned. Tears were pooling in the corners of her eyes and her thumb throbbed with each beat of her heart. "You've been telling me to punch you all day!"

"Yeah, and you've throwing girl punches the whole time! What the fuck happened?" Dean shouted. He straightened up and pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket. It immediately stained bright red when he pressed it against his still bleeding nose.

Sam snickered and stepped closer to Dean, checking out his nose. "Man, I think she just broke your nose with a girl punch."

Dean glared at him and gingerly pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I think I broke my thumb…"Liv moaned. She held her injured hand up in front of her face. The thumb was already beginning to swell and, when she tried to wiggle it, felt like shards of glass were being forced into the flesh.

"Jesus, you two are a disaster," Sam said. He abandoned Dean to his blood-soaked handkerchief and walked over to Liv.

She tried not to scream when he bent her thumb first one way and then another. After a brief inspection, he stepped back and shook his head.

"It's not broken," he said. "But it's gonna be sore for a while. Your nose, on the other hand," he said, pointing at Dean. "That's definitely wrecked. We're gonna have to set it unless you think it'll add to your charm."

Liv looked up at him as Dean pulled away the ruined piece of fabric and shoved it into his jacket pocket. His nose was most definitely broken; it canted to the left at a strange and unnatural angle.

"Alright, alright, just do it," Dean said, angrily. He leaned back against the old Gremlin they'd been driving and shoved his hands into his jean pockets. "Hurry up, dammit!"

Sam jumped and rushed to Dean's side. "This is gonna hurt, you know," he said, hesitantly. Liv thought he sounded a little bit fearful.

"I'm sorry," she whispered and sidled up to Dean. He glared down at her in response before closing his eyes.

Sam grasped Dean's nose and, with a sudden jerk of his wrist, snapped it into alignment.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!" Dean yelled as a fresh torrent of blood flooded out of his nostrils. He crouched down and leaned his head back against the car, eyes closed tight.

Sam pulled Liv's damaged hand back into both of his and looked more closely. "Didn't you teach her how to make a fist?"

Dean opened his eyes and glowered up at him. "Yes, I taught her how to make a fist. Is it my fault she didn't listen?"

Sam ignored the question and turned back to Liv. "He showed you how to keep your thumb on the outside so it doesn't get crushed?"

Liv nodded, sheepishly. Of course, Dean had shown her. She'd forgotten in her anger. He kept yelling at her, telling her she was too slow or she didn't hit hard enough. He said she couldn't knock out a baby with the punches she was throwing. So, she got pissed and didn't think. It was her own stupid fault her thumb was messed up.

"You can see how important that is, right?" Sam said, with a kind smile.

Liv nodded, again. She felt like an idiot.

Dean wrinkled his nose a few times and stood, slowly. "Okay, let me see," he said, gruffly.

Liv held out her hand for him to examine. He supported it gently and studied both sides of her thumb before placing a tender kiss on the lowest knuckle.

"You'll be alright," he said, stern but not exactly harsh. "Let's get some ice; we both need it."

* * *

"Must have been a pretty good hit," Sam said fifteen minutes later. He was checking out Dean's nose, which was straight but definitely swollen and still decorated with a few streaks of blood.

They were inside, lounging in the living room on the couch. Liv wanted to keep training; she wasn't ready to jump back into hand-to-hand combat but she figured there was something she could do. Dean was insistent that she continue to ice her hand for fifteen minutes every hour.

"Yeah, she's learning," Dean answered. "Once she keeps that thumb in position, that is."

"What were you planning on working next?" Sam asked. "Maybe I can help out."

Dean lifted his right leg and dropped it onto the coffee table with a heavy thud that rattled all the bottles and cans that had accumulated over the past weeks. He reached down and slid a long, shiny bowie knife out of an ankle holster in his boot.

"I was gonna teach her to throw," he said. "Thought it might be a good idea to work on range, first, and she's already a pretty decent shot. At least Rick taught her that much."

Liv scooted closer to him and gingerly transferred her icepack to the bridge of his nose. While she felt awful for breaking his nose, she didn't necessarily think it was entirely her fault. He _had_ been egging her own, telling her to hit him as hard as she could. He winced but didn't move away.

"I'm better with knives than you are," Sam said. He leaned back in his chair and smiled over at his brother.

Dean snorted. "You _think_ you are."

Sam laughed and shook his head. "Dude, you _know_ I am. I've always had better aim with knives."

Dean just scowled.

Sam shrugged and took a drink from the bottle of beer he was holding. "Whatever, man. Keep lying to yourself, if it makes you feel better," he muttered with a shrewd grin.

Dean snatched the icepack away from his face and sat upright. He quickly scanned the room and, without warning, flung the knife with enough force to shake the couch. By the time Liv looked up, the bowie knife was lodged into the wall across from them. The tip of the blade was perfectly centered on a newspaper clipping with a photograph of Dick Roman. If Roman had really been in the room, he'd have been dead with the knife sticking out of the middle of his forehead.

"Eh?" Dean said. "How 'bout that?"

Sam scoffed. "It's like, eight feet away from you! That's not skill; I could do that when I was seven."

"What?!" Dean shouted. "That's bullshit. First of all, it's at least ten feet away. Second, that picture is barely two inches wide!"

"Alright, guys. Everybody relax. This is no reason for one of your stupid pissing contests," Liv said. She was used to their constant bickering and debating over who was better at what and who was substandard. One evening, they'd played eleven rounds of pool before Sam was forced to admit that Dean was still, and probably always would be, superior. Then, they'd played eight games of darts. Ultimately, Dean had to admit defeat when Sam got four bull's-eyes in a row, but he wasn't exactly a good sport about it.

"No. You know what? We're doing this one right. Get your knives, Sammy, and get ready for an unholy beatdown," Dean said. He stood abruptly and stalked over to the newspaper clipping. Liv watched with her mouth hanging open while he jerked the knife out of the wall and stomped toward the door. "Come on, bitches!"

"Did he just call us bitches?" Liv asked, as Dean's heavy boots clomped down the porch stairs. Sam cocked his eyebrows and shrugged.

"Guess I better get my knives," he said.

Liv scurried outside and quickly caught up with Dean. He'd found some nails from a rusty, old bucket beside the porch and was hammering them into a nearby tree with a crowbar. Apparently, he hadn't been able to find a paper target. Instead, the nails were securing another newspaper clipping with a large photograph, this one of the Biggerson's CEO. The article was about the recent recall of the Turducken Slammer meat. Liv felt her stomach heave just from thinking about the disgusting sandwich and the slimy, grey goop hidden inside.

"Why does it matter whose better?" Liv grumbled. "Aren't you supposed to be teaching _me_?"

"It matters because Dean needs to learn that he's not the best at everything, no matter how egotistical he is," Sam answered from behind her. He stomped down the stairs and met them in front of the tree. "Nice choice," he said, motioning toward the newspaper photo.

"It matters because Sam is so full of bullshit this place is starting to stink," Dean said.

Liv groaned and climbed onto the hood of Bobby's old beater. She decided to give up and just let it happen, fully expecting Dean to royally kick Sam's ass. She only hoped it would be quick so she could get back to her lessons.

Half an hour later, though, Dean was shouting obscenities for the second time that day.

Sam had most definitely schooled his older brother; Liv couldn't even try to deny it. He hadn't missed even once. Not only that, each time he threw, the tip of the blade landed exactly where he had called it.

In contrast, Dean had not only missed his mark three times, but his knife had actually flown past the tree once and landed in the bushes behind it. Liv had to help him find it.

"I told you," Sam said, arrogantly. "It's not my fault you didn't listen."

"Ahh, fuck you," Dean said.

"So, I guess Sam's teaching me knives, then?" Liv said. She was trying not to laugh but Dean was so shocked and angry that she was having trouble stifling her snickers.

* * *

Liv made a lot of progress over the next few days, learning the most effective way to throw a knife (from Sam), how to disable a much larger attacker, and going through John's journal to try and pick up some tips on defeating the supernatural beings most commonly found in the United States. It was tiring, back-breaking work. Neither of the boys went easy on her. Her back hurt, her fingers were all sore and covered in tiny cuts, and she was exhausted. When Sam found a case he thought was worth their time, she was thankful for the break.

It took them less than a day to get to Witchita, Kansas. Their first stop was the medical examiner's office, where Liv was finally able to use her doctor persona for the second time.

Working in the field with Sam and Dean was very different from working with Bobby. They were harder, tougher, and more persistent. She couldn't determine which method was more productive, but she didn't think she'd ever be able to carry off the stern, steel FBI facade that Sam and Dean were most comfortable with. She kept quiet, for the most part, as they spoke to the medical examiner assigned to their vic.

The circumstances of the man's death were an enigma. Liv couldn't remember anything from the journal about blood-sucking, octopus monsters. She examined the body for over an hour, measuring the suction marks and documenting the gaping neck wound from which the man had bled out, probably in a matter of minutes. She found nothing abnormal, beyond the obvious mystery of what had caused such bizarre markings. Feeling disappointed, and a little bit defeated, Liv had to admit that she had no useful information.

"That bite look a little vampy to you?" Dean asked, as they left the ME.

"Yeah, no question," Sam answered.

"So what are we looking for? An octovamp? A vamptotus?" Dean asked, snickering.

Liv rolled her eyes. "Does something like that even exist?" she said.

Sam shrugged. "That's crazy, even for us, right?"

Dean nodded. "It does push the envelope. Let's go chat up the widow."

Unfortunately for Liv, there was no reason for a "Forensic Specialist" to speak with the victim's wife so she was, once again, banished to the motel room. Liv swore to herself, almost every day, that she would never be clingy or become a burden but she was loathe to leave Dean's side, especially after he'd gone up against the literal god of time and ended up seventy-five years in the past, but she had no other option.

"We'll be fine, I promise," Dean told her for the third time as he headed out the door. Sam was already waiting in the car. "Do you have your gun?"

Liv pulled her revolver, a gift from Dean, out from under her pillow and held it up.

"And your knife?" he prodded.

She drew out the knife he'd given her from its hiding place between the mattress and box spring.

"Salt the door after we leave," he ordered, but his tone was affectionate.

"Yes, Dad," Liv mumbled. She picked at the hem of her tank top and crinkled her nose, childishly.

Dean abandoned the door and returned to her side. "Listen, FBI agents usually work in pairs. It doesn't make sense for a third person to be there. And, Sam just looks the part more than you do," he said, gently.

"I know," she said, refusing to look up at him. She knew she was acting silly, but it was so hard to watch him leave. She also knew that he was absolutely right; she'd never pass for an FBI agent with her mass of tangled, waist-length curls, her chewed up fingernails, and her plethora of tattoos, the latest of which was a large mandala that nearly covered her right wrist. "Maybe I can do something to look more professional."

He reached over and rested his fingers on her chin, forcing her head up. "Something like what?"

She shrugged and forced a slight smile. "I dunno. Cover my tattoos. Maybe cut my hair."

"No," he said, severely. "I don't want you to cut your hair; I love your hair." He reached up to run his fingers through the long strands, frowning when they caught on the nest of tangles.

"I have to do _something_ ," she insisted. "I can't just sit in a motel room forever."

Dean pulled her into his lap and slipped his arms around her waist. "You do lots of things. You help us do research… You look at the bodies… You provide me with much needed stress relief," he said. His lips trailed below her jawline and tickled her neck.

Liv giggled and ran her hands over the lapel of his suit jacket. "Maybe I just need a suit. You look so sexy and professional in yours… Maybe that's the magic touch."

"Oh, do you think that's it?" he teased. "So, I'm only sexy in the suit?"

Shrugging playfully, she popped open the top button of his jacket. "I can't remember. I guess I need to make an educated comparison before I can answer definitively."

"I guess we can make that happen," he answered and pressed his lips against hers.

Liv wrapped her arms around his neck and eagerly met his kiss. The tip of her tongue traced the outline of his lips and he caught it between his teeth.

Neither of them heard the door open but they quickly separated when Sam loudly cleared his throat.

"Dude, what the hell? I've been waiting for like, twenty minutes. Are we going or what?"

"Yes," Dean said, brusquely. "We're going, right now." He stood up quickly, depositing Liv on the bed, and straightened the front of his jacket.

"Be careful," she called as he slipped out the door, flashing her a charming grin.

"Salt lines!" he yelled back as the door latched shut behind him.

* * *

"How do you feel about clowns?" Dean asked, later that evening.

Liv shook her head, taken back by the question. "What do you mean?" She was sitting on the bed with her back against the headboard and her legs stretched out in front of her, crossed at the ankles. Documents and crime scene photographs surrounded her, covering the top half of the bed.

"Dean, shut up," Sam said, sounding irritated.

"Do they scare you? Do they make you laugh? Clown fetish? Just in general," Dean went on, ignoring his brother.

"I dunno," Liv said, shrugging. "What kind of clowns? Like, the creepy, molesty kind or… Huh… I guess that's the only kind…"

Sam pointed at her and raised a hand in triumph. "See! She gets it! Clowns are unnatural and disturbing."

"Well, yeah, but she's not afraid of them. Are you?" Dean asked her.

"Nah, not really. Wasn't there a serial killer clown, though?" she said, looking up from the file on the octovamp victim.

"Gacy," Dean said. He kicked off his boots and flopped onto the bed, sending various papers to the ground. Ignoring her protests, he shoved the file out of her lap and replaced it with his head. Liv sighed dramatically and slid her fingertips through his hair, massaging his scalp. He made satisfied, groaning sounds as her fingers moved down the back of his neck.

"Eww, come on guys, seriously. You gotta start getting your own room," Sam said, frowning with disgust.

"I tried," she said. "Only one vacancy."

"Besides, we're not doing anything," Dean contended. He reached up and slipped his right hand beneath the hem of her shirt, tickling her midriff.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Liv shouted, struggling to twist away.

"Gross," Sam said, simply. He stared intently at the laptop screen.

Liv rolled away from Dean's roaming fingers and ended up on the floor. "I'm tired, anyway. Can we go to sleep?" she said. It was past midnight. They'd gone over the meeting with the widow, Dean's conversation with the nanny, and Sam's interaction with the daughter of the dead man a dozen times. No one had any new insights.

"Yes, please," Dean answered, his voice muffled; his face was buried in one of the fluffy pillows.

Liv disappeared into the bathroom to change into a pair of black sleep shorts and one of Dean's old t-shirts. She'd gone through his limited wardrobe and picked out a few that had holes and fraying ends. After stripping them of the sleeves and cutting away the collars, they made excellent nightshirts. Unfortunately, Dean had a conniption fit when he saw that she'd "mutilated" his clothes.

When she came out of the bathroom, teeth brushed and face washed, Dean was teasing his brother by imitating the clown from the movie _It_ and laughing hysterically.

"Shove over, Pennywise," Liv commanded. He complied with an immature grunt.

Without leaving the bed, Dean pulled off his denim button-up and his black t-shirt. He flung them onto the floor, earning a groan of irritation from Liv, who would be forced to collect and sort his dirty laundry the following morning. His jeans ended up in a ball at the foot of the bed, along with his socks. He was snoring, clad in only his boxer briefs, ten minutes later.

"Bed soon?" Liv asked Sam, who was still pouring over the same website on his laptop. After she snapped off the bedside lamp, the room was bathed in weak, bluish light from the computer screen.

"Yeah, pretty soon," Sam said, smiling over at her.

"Okay," she said, smiling back. "Don't stay up too late!"

* * *

When Liv woke the next morning, Dean was already gone and Sam was back in position in front of the computer.

"What's going on?" she asked, groggily.

"Another body," Sam said. His voice was surly and annoyed.

Liv jumped out of bed and grabbed her duffel bag. "What's wrong?"

"We have to go to Plucky's" Sam said. His tone had shifted from irritated to anxious.

"What's that?" Liv asked, her eyebrows raised. She'd never heard of such a place.

"It's like an arcade for kids. Birthday parties and stuff. And… And clowns…" he added, hesitantly.

Liv stepped into the bathroom, leaving the door open a crack so she could hear him.

"Is that where Dean got this whole clown thing?"

"Yeah, I guess the kid from yesterday was there and now this new vic's kid, too," Sam said through the bathroom door. "Seems like a pretty popular place."

Liv slipped into a simple, navy blue dress to wear beneath her lab coat. She was anxious to examine the new victim and potentially find out something useful.

"Alrighty," she said once she was back in the living area. "So you're going to Plucky's. Wanna drop me at the ME on your way?"

Sam looked up at her sharply. "Wait, you're not coming with me?"

Liv tried not to laugh at the look of pure, and unwarranted, terror on his face.

"No. I'm not FBI, remember? It wouldn't make sense."

"Oh… yeah, okay," he said.

Liv struggled into a pair of sensible, black heels. She hated them, and still felt like she might topple over at any moment, but she had to admit they made her look more professional.

"K, let's go," she said.

In the car, on the way to the ME, Sam suggested at least three times that they stick together. Liv was amused by his distress, but also felt sympathetic. She just couldn't think of a reason for her to accompany him to the arcade. At any rate, she was far too eager to see the new corpse.

"Call me when you're on your way back?" she said as she climbed out of the Jeep.

"Sure," Sam said, with a long sigh.

"You'll be okay!" Liv said, cheerfully. "Even Gacy couldn't take you."

He drove off looking entirely unsure of himself. She didn't have time to worry about him though; the body had already arrived and was being prepped for autopsy.

Unfortunately for Liv, there was very little to actually look at. Other than a single, enormous hole in the man's torso, he was otherwise intact and untouched. The wound itself could have been caused by almost any large, round, tubular object. Whatever it was had been thrust completely through his chest, causing death immediately.

Liv spent twenty minutes examining the gaping hole and, having nothing else to do, waited outside for Sam to return.

He showed up an hour after that, looking slightly less fretful.

"Anything?" they asked each other, at the same time.

"No," Liv said, apologetically. "Just another dead guy with a hole punched through his chest."

"Well," Sam said, clearly pleased with himself. "I've got a lead. We're going back tonight to talk to the janitor."

"We as in me too?" Liv asked, eagerly.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, might as well. Should just be him and he won't know who you are."

When they pulled into the motel parking lot, Dean had already beaten them there. He sat inside, at the high counter, with a few boxes of Chinese takeout.

"Hungry?" he asked, as they walked into the room.

"Starved!" Liv said. She slipped out of the lab coat and tugged the navy blue dress up and over her head. Sam followed her into the room and frowned when he saw her, standing there in her underclothes.

"Jesus, Liv, can't you change in the bathroom?" he groaned.

Liv rifled through her bag and hauled out a pair of jeans and a pink, v-neck t-shirt. She grinned at him as she tugged the tight jeans up her legs.

"Listen, Sam, we all know none of this is a mystery to you," she said as the pulled on the t-shirt. Her smile faltered, briefly, when she saw him take in the scars, which were pale but prominent on her torso. He looked saddened by the reminder. She brightened her tone, trying to draw his attention away. "Dean's told me all about your numerous sexual escapades."

"Dean's a liar," Sam answered, shaking his head. He hung his suit jacket on the coat rack and picked up one of the food containers.

"Hey," Dean said, addressing Sam. "So what's the lowdown with trauma town?"

Sam frowned. "I can tell you this much, neither vic was up for parent of the year. Kelly's dad skipped her birthday and Billy's dad pulled one of those dick parent scenes that makes everyone cringe."

"What about the new body?" Dean asked. He turned to Liv who was shoving orange chicken into her mouth with her chopsticks.

She shrugged. "Nothing really stuck out," she said, through a mouthful of chicken. "Big hole in his chest. No big deal, right?"

"Yeah, right," Dean said. "What the hell are these?"

Sam had placed several large sheets of paper onto the table in front of Dean. They were covered in pictures that had obviously been drawn by small children. Liv glanced at them; some were fairly decent while others were difficult to discern.

"Kid therapy," Sam said. "You draw your worst nightmare - poof! - Plucky fixes it. They hang them up on this big wall."

"Well, can't argue with this. Leprechauns are deadly," Dean said.

Sam snorted.

"Wait, seriously?" Liv asked. Demons and werewolves were one thing but leprechauns…?

Neither of them answered but Sam flashed her a meaningful glance.

"Okay, so Kelly draws a monster and then that goes after her father? That's what we're saying?" Dean said, incredulously.

"What did she draw? Where's her picture?" Liv asked. She sorted through the drawings but couldn't find any names on them.

"Well, here's the thing. They label those and guess which two were missing? Well, nametag was there; no placemat," Sam said.

"Little miss octovamp," Dean said, nodding.

"Yeah," Sam said. "And Billy. So, somehow, whatever he drew came to life and killed his dad, riding a horse."

Dean pulled a piece of paper out of his jacket pocket and held it up for Sam and Liv to look at. It was another illustration, this one of a crudely drawn unicorn with a brightly colored tail.

"Close, but no Seabiscuit. See, I went and had a little chat with Billy. And he drew me this."

"Wait," Sam said, inspecting the picture. "So, unicorns are evil?"

"Hang on," Liv interrupted. "Unicorns are real? I knew it!"

"Yeah, obviously," Dean said.

"Great. Well, now the question is how did a unicorn come off a sketch and kill Billy's dad? How's any of this happening?" Sam asked.

* * *

Unfortunately, they were never able to speak to the janitor. When they pulled up to the building, late that night, dozens of police cars had swarmed the parking lot. A gurney was being wheeled out the front door; a blood-stained sheet covered a body that was about to be loaded into a waiting ambulance.

"Hold on one second there, guys," Dean told the emergency crew. The stopped the gurney and let him lift the sheet.

"Eww…" Liv said. The man on the stretcher was wearing a janitor's uniform and a nametag. She couldn't read the name, though; it was covered in blood and had a sizable portion missing. The man had the largest bite mark she'd ever seen crossing his entire torso. Chunks of flesh had been ripped away, leaving wide, jagged teeth marks.

"Yeah, eww is right," one of the EMTs agreed.

"So?" Dean said, as Sam approached them. He had been talking to a woman with long, dark hair.

"The manager found the body in the ball pit. Blood everywhere," Sam said.

Liv lifted up the sheet and looked at the man's body again. The marks were strangely familiar but she couldn't remember ever seeing another body with them.

"Cops have a theory?" Dean asked.

"Yeah," Sam said. "They think the ball washer did it."

Liv looked up at him, grinning.

"The what?" Dean said.

"The ball washer," Sam said, absently.

"The what?" Liv asked, nudging Dean with her elbow. He smiled down at her.

"The ball…" Sam finally caught on and held his hands up, agitated. Liv chuckled.

"Look at this," Dean said, lifting the sheet.

Sam raised his eyebrows as he took in the bizarre wounds. Dean thanked the EMTs as they recovered the body and loaded it into the ambulance.

"That's a shark bite," Dean said in a low voice.

"Oh yeah!" Liv exclaimed. She remembered seeing something similar on the television, but never in person.

"Yeah," Sam said.

"And judging from the radius, I'd say a twenty footer," Dean said.

Liv nodded. "Oh, at least," she said.

Sam looked at Dean, then at Liv, with a disbelieving expression.

"Shark week, man!" Dean said, sounding extremely impatient and even a little offended.

Sam didn't say anything. He walked away, rolling his eyes.

"Whole week of sharks," Dean said under his breath. He looked down at Liv, as if seeking an empathetic supporter.

"I know, baby," Liv said, shaking her head. She put her hand on his shoulder and guided him toward the car. "I don't get it, either.

* * *

The shark attack didn't answer many questions. Sam and Dean broke into the arcade and found another nametag missing its illustration, which they ultimately decided would have been a shark. The following afternoon, they sat around the motel room discussing potential culprits but didn't really have a better idea of what they were looking for.

"Maybe a Tulpa?" Sam suggested.

Liv didn't know what a Tulpa was but Dean shot it down, immediately.

"No, killings are too spread out," he said.

"True," Sam agreed. "Angel?"

Dean shook his head. "It's a little imaginative for the God squad, don't you think?"

"Alright, so what?" Sam asked. Liv could tell he was getting discouraged; they all were.

"Yeah, I don't know," Dean said. "I'm tapped out."

Liv slipped into Dean's lap and paged through the journal that sat open on the table in front of him. He rested his chin on her shoulder.

"Any ideas, darlin'?" he asked her. She shook her head, frowning.

"Well, whatever it is, at least we know where it is," Sam said.

"Plucky's!" Dean said, slapping Liv's thigh, enthusiastically.

"That's where the victims are getting picked up," Sam said.

Dean stood, lifting Liv and placing her on his chair. "Yeah, but we swept the place last night and nada," he said.

"I can go back," Sam said. "Go to the employees, maybe dig up some dirt."

Liv took a long drink from Dean's coffee, grimacing. He took it black; she preferred it sweetened with cream.

"What good's that gonna do?" Dean asked. He grabbed a piece of paper from the counter before taking his seat at the table and pulling Liv back into his lap. "They think you're a Fed. The one guy who was gonna rat, he got bruced. If anybody knows anything, they're not gonna tell you."

"Alright," Sam said, clapping his hands together. "That's the plan." He stood up and headed toward the bathroom. "I'll go back, play bad cop, really lean into them."

"And?" Dean said.

"And when I'm done, then you watch them."

"So if somebody freaks out, then that's our creep," Dean said.

"Or he'll lead us closer," Sam said. "And you can track him."

"Well, what's my cover," Dean said, his eyebrows furrowed together.

Liv continued to go through the journal, reading the various notes that Sam's and Dean's father had thoroughly documented throughout the years. She recognized several additions in Dean's messy scrawl, and a few more in Sam's meticulous handwriting. Years' worth of battles, invaluable information, sat, memorialized, on the table before her. Liv was mesmerized; she barely heard them.

"I don't know," Sam said. "Just hang back. Act normal." He disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door.

"Yeah, yeah," Dean said. "Guy in his thirties hanging out at Plucky's alone - that's normal. That's not pervy at all."

Liv finally looked up from the book and smiled at him. "Don't look at me," she said when he looked up at her with a pleading gaze. "I'm not stepping foot in that smelly pukefest."

* * *

"So the manager is a pothead, the lion is a drug dealer, and there's a giant robot with laser eyes out there, somewhere?" Liv said, summing up the peculiar and surreal events of their afternoon at Plucky's.

Dean nodded. "That sounds about right. I'm headed back to check out the broiler room. Sam's gonna keep an eye on the robot kid's mom." He and Sam were both preparing to head out; they had both checked their revolvers and Dean was adjusting the knife holster inside his boot.

"What about me?" Liv asked.

Sam looked at Dean and shrugged.

"You go with Sam," Dean said, after pausing to deliberate for a moment.

"Awesome," she said. She slipped her gun into the back of her jeans and took a few steps, testing its security. Satisfied that it wouldn't slide out of place, she hurried to the door and followed Sam outside. Dean brought up the rear.

Dean dropped into the driver's seat of the car he'd been driving while Sam and Liv climbed into the Jeep.

"Meet you at Plucky's," he said, and pulled out of the parking lot.

They decided to separate at the arcade. Liv and Dean shared a brief moment to wish each other good luck before she and Sam headed out, in the Jeep. She could see he was worried; he had never really grown comfortable with her joining them in the field, but he didn't object. Liv, herself, wasn't concerned. She had faith in Sam's ability to keep her safe, and she also felt like less of a hindrance.

"Be careful," Dean told her as she skipped through the parking lot, closely following Sam.

"You, too!" she called back to him, and blew him a kiss. He pretended to catch it and feigned slipping it into his pocket. She watched him jimmy open the door and slip inside, out of sight.

Several blocks away, Sam pulled the Jeep over to the side of the road and got out. They continued on foot, surveying the area and keeping their eyes open for any signs of a homicidal robot.

"Do you think he'll find anything?" she asked Sam. She had to almost jog to keep up with him and his long strides.

"Maybe," he answered. He saw her struggling to match his pace and slowed, significantly. "I'm just wondering what we're going to do against a giant robot with laser eyes."

Liv was also unsure of what they should do if they encountered the boy's greatest fear. She thought it might be safest to distract it and run, hoping Dean could find and destroy whatever controlled it before either she or Sam was roasted in the street.

The road they followed was mostly dark; only a few streetlights dotted the pavement and what light they offered was weak and sporadic. Not a single car passed them and there was no sound, other than their footsteps, until a high, maniacal laugh rang out.

Liv stopped short. She whirled around, scanning the area for the source of the laugh. Sam, on the other hand, was completely frozen. His eyes widened and his breathing increased to a frantic pace.

Ahead of them, a single clown with wild, green hair stepped into view. It laughed again and the sound seemed to echo through the empty streets.

"What the fuck…" Liv mused. She squinted at the clown, trying to make out its spine-chilling, painted on features.

"It's a… It's a clown…" Sam mumbled through lips that barely opened.

"Yeah, it's a clown," Liv said.

"Run," Sam whispered, harshly. He grabbed Liv's hand and took off in the opposite direction.

Liv fought to keep up but he was just too fast, and too tall. His long legs were a blur. When she faltered, he pulled her behind a car and stopped, breathing hard.

"It's okay," he said, more to himself than to her. "They can't hurt you. They can't hurt you. If it bleeds, you can kill it. Yeah. If it bleeds, you can kill it."

"Sam, are you okay?" Liv asked. He seemed to nearing full-on panic mode.

Sam ignored her. He peeked up over the car and shuddered. Liv looked through the windows and saw the same clown, standing just a few feet away. There was no way it could have kept up with them; Sam had them sprinting.

He grasped Liv's hand and pulled her forward again. When she looked back, she saw the clown following them with high, comical steps.

"Here, here!" Sam said, shoving open a door. "Get inside!" He practically threw Liv into the building, an old garage, and slammed the door shut. Frantically, he piled metal shelving and random pieces of machinery in front of the door but it was no use; the clown quickly found a way inside, laughing and jeering the entire time.

"This way!" Liv said and took off, away from the door. She nearly fell over when she stopped, suddenly; her path was blocked by another clown, this one round and fat but also cheering.

Liv whipped her gun out from the back of her jeans and pointed it at the second clown. Her aim was good but the bullet was powerless. The clown cackled and shoved her into a workbench. Liv winced as her back struck the wood and she fell to her knees.

Sam hurried to her side and shot at the clown, as well. Both bullets would have taken down a linebacker but the clown was unfazed. It knocked the gun from his hand and punched him in the face, three separate times.

"Sam!" Liv called out. She struggled to her feet and launched herself at the fatter clown, wrapping her arms around its neck. It shoved an elbow into her ribs and flung her to the ground where she landed, hard, on the concrete.

Sam was pushed back and forth between the two clowns like a ping pong ball, until one of them head butted him and he dropped to his knees. Both of the clowns laughed, crazily.

Liv sat up and pulled her knife from the inner pocket of her jacket. It was smaller than Dean's but just as sharp. She took careful aim and, remembering everything Sam taught her, hurled it at the second clown. It lodged in the center of the thing's back, sending plumes of multicolored glitter into the air. The clown turned and glowered at her, baring its yellowing, scraggly teeth.

"Liv, no!" Sam shouted, just before the first clown grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and hurled him into the air. He crashed down onto a pickup truck, shattering the windshield. The second clown turned away from Liv and focused, once again, on Sam. They starting tossing him back and forth again, until Sam wiggled out of their grasp and grabbed a tire iron from the back of the truck. He raised it over his head but the first clown sprayed him in the face with a fake flower pinned to its' lapel, distracting him for a second. Sam whipped his head back and forth, sending splashes of water onto the ground. When he could open his eyes again, he swung, knocking one of the clowns to the ground. He turned on the other but it only grinned at him.

Liv saw how hard Sam had hit the clown, how much force he had put behind the swing, but it was already up and on its feet, coming at him. Sam swung the tire iron again; it connected with the clown's crotch. The thing hopped backwards, clutching at itself and hissing.

"Sam, watch out," Liv shrieked. She scrambled to her feet and ran forward, sending a sharp kick into the clown's lower back.

It turned back to her and hurtled itself forward. Liv screamed as it lifted her up and tossed her, as if she weighed nothing, into the back of the pickup truck. She cracked her head on a pile of lumber and sat up, dazed.

Both of the clowns ran toward Sam from opposite directions, each of them wielding a random tool from the ground as a weapon.

"No!" Liv shouted but, just before they collided, both of the clowns disappeared in a shower of glitter. Liv coughed as it flew into her mouth and nose. She waved it out of her eyes and scanned the darkened room; other than her and Sam, it was empty.

"Are you okay?" he asked her, as he lifted her out of the bed of the truck.

Liv nodded, massaging the top of her head.

"Yeah, I'm good. You?"

Sam nodded, rubbing his hands over the front of his jacket.

Liv looked down and saw that they were both covered with glitter; it stuck to their clothing and clung to her hair, no matter how rapidly she shook her head.

"What happened to them?" she asked.

"Must have been Dean," he said. "We better get back."

The two of them hurried out of the garage and quickly made their way back to Plucky's, where Dean was waiting for them. The second he saw them, coated head to foot in rainbow glitter, he doubled over, laughing.

"Go ahead, say it," Sam said with a heavy voice.

"I'm sorry," Dean barely got out, nearly rendered speechless by his laughter. "You two look like you got attacked by some PCP-crazed strippers," he finally said.

Sam smiled and Liv managed a chuckle. She could feel the little pieces of glitter on her tongue and in her nose.

"Dude, one of them sprayed me with seltzer from his flower," Sam said.

"I'm sorry, what?" Dean said, laughing even harder.

"Nothing," Sam said, shaking his head. "Carry on."

Liv took a few steps closer to Dean, taking advantage of his distracted state.

"Oh… That's… Sam, I'm sorry for psychologically scarring you," he said.

"Which time?" Sam asked. Liv thought he had caught her eye, and might have even winked when Dean was bent over, laughing.

"Shut up," Dean said. "Seriously, you know, me ditching you when we were kids. That was a dick move. You know, the whole clown thing…"

"You know what, man?" Sam said. "Honestly, getting my ass kicked by those juggalos tonight was … it was therapeutic."

"You faced your fear," Dean said, grinning.

"Exactly. And now what else could a clown possibly ever do to me? I feel good," Sam said.

"Well, congrats," Dean said. "How 'bout you, darlin'? Did you get seltzered, too? Or maybe they hit you with one of those hand buzzers? Hey!"

Just as Dean turned to Liv, she leapt onto him. Liv shook her head on his shoulders and rubbed her body against his, writhing and wriggling until he, too, was covered in glitter from head to toe.

"Not cool!" he groaned, but he was smiling, widely. He wrapped his arms around Liv and held her in place, with her arms at her sides. "This shit is _never_ gonna come off."

Sam chuckled. "By the way, to celebrate…" he began, while walking back to the Jeep. He pulled a giant slinky out of the passenger seat.

"No!" Dean said. He lowered Liv to the ground and grabbed the slinky from Sam's hands. "Did you win this?"

"We earned that," Sam said, assertively.

"We earned a hell of a lot more than that," Liv said. She ran her fingers through her hair, sending tiny cascades of sparkles onto the pavement.

"Ha!" Dean grinned. "Hey, I got you a little something too, actually," he said. He reached into the car, grabbed a miniature stuffed clown and tossed it to Sam, who shuddered and held the doll up for Liv to see.

"Classy," Liv said, smirking. She spit onto the ground and marveled at the rainbow of colors reflecting in her saliva.

"What?" Dean said. "He said he was over it. You can think of it as a… a clown phobia sobriety chip!"

"Yeah, sure," Sam said, as he climbed into the passenger seat.

Liv slipped out of her jacket and shook it out. Clouds of glitter floated in the breeze.

"Forget it," Dean said. He stepped over to her and slid an arm around her waist, pulling her close for a warm, lavish kiss. He drew away, slowly, and ushered her into the backseat of the car. "We're gonna have to find a new ride. We could vacuum this one out a hundred times and still be covered in fuckin' glitter."

As they pulled out of the parking lot, Liv saw the clown doll lying on the ground, its head twisted around and nearly broken off.


	27. Chapter 27

**Hey, everybody! Just a short, little, fun chapter. Well… it's pretty angsty but it's a quick read. The last few chapters have been LONG and I get the feeling people don't exactly love that. Anyway, I love reviews, good or bad, and welcome everyone's input! Let me know what you think!**

* * *

"Sam?" Liv called, timidly. "Are you okay?"

She glanced back over her shoulder, toward the bed where Dean slept, soundly. She didn't want to wake him but the soft, mournful whimpers she'd heard coming from the bathroom were distressing. She debated waking him anyway, reasoning that he might be angry if something was truly wrong with his brother and she hadn't informed him, right away.

Dean snorted in his sleep and rolled over onto his stomach. She decided to let him sleep. If she screamed, he'd be up in a second, anyway.

Liv had been asleep, as well, when a quiet thud roused her. She'd slipped out from under Dean's arm, which had been wrapped tightly around her waist, and crawled out of the bed. The room was hot. It was summer and the air conditioner hadn't been working. Dean wore only his customary boxers. Liv had abandoned her nightgown and gone to sleep in a tank top and underpants but she was still coated in a light layer of sweat when the unknown sound had woken her, despite her meager apparel. When she saw that Sam's bed was empty, and heard those heart wrenching cries from the bathroom, she'd immediately forgotten about her lack of appropriate clothing.

"Sam?" she said again, in barely more than a whisper.

The bathroom door was cracked and a thin, sliver of light spilled out onto the floor. The whimpers quieted and were replaced by urgent, aggressive murmurs. Liv thought they were worse than the crying; who was he talking to? What if Sam wasn't alone? Even more frightening… what if he _was_?

Liv didn't wait for an answer; she pushed the door open with her fingertips, cringing when the hinges protested.

She found him in the bathroom, sitting on the floor with his back against the tub. He was wearing blue, plaid pajama pants but his chest was bare. His knees were drawn up and his arms were wrapped around them. His face was down, hidden beneath his long forearms.

"Hey…" Liv said, softly. "Sam, what's going on?"

She padded across the tile floor and knelt beside him. He was sweating, and trembling, and when she laid a palm on his shoulder, he jumped as if he'd been struck.

"Sammy, talk to me," she urged. She settled onto the floor and drew her legs in, close to her body. The floor was ice cold in stark contrast to the hot, humid air.

He finally looked up, at her, and she almost wept when she saw the agony in his eyes.

"He won't go away," Sam hissed.

"Who won't?" Liv asked. She gently massaged his shoulders. The muscles were tense and rock hard in his distress. When he wouldn't stop shaking, she slid her arm around him and leaned against him.

He didn't answer for a long time, at least two or three minutes. He stared up and over, into the opposite corner of the room. Liv glanced back and forth between his eyes and the area where his gaze fell. She could see nothing alarming. She was on the verge of repeating the question when his eyes flicked back to her.

"The devil," he whispered.

Liv felt like the cold of the tile floor had traveled up and through the rest of her body.

"Is he here, right now?" she asked.

He had returned his gaze to the empty corner, but he nodded.

"No, Sammy, there's no one there," Liv started to stand, planning on walking through the room to show him that it was empty, aside from the two of them, but he grasped her arm with frantic desperation.

"Don't go over there, please, Liv!" he said. His red-rimmed eyes began to fill with tears. He was so strong, especially in his misery. "Just stay here for a few minutes, okay?"

Liv nodded and leaned back against the tub. Sam's arms circled her waist and he leaned down to rest his head on her shoulder. She could feel him quivering and his tears ran freely down her chest and mingled with her sweat.

"Okay, don't worry," she said. She let one arm rest on his back; with her other hand, she ran her fingers through his long, tangled hair. "I'll stay."

They sat like that for at least five minutes before either of them spoke again.

"Sam?" she finally said, when she thought he had stopped crying.

"Yeah," he said. His voice was husky and fragile.

"Is he still there?" Liv twirled a strand of his hair around her index finger. It was damp with perspiration and his tears. She knew how soothing it was when Dean played with her hair, and hoped it was having the same effect on Sam.

Sam looked up, first into the corner and then around the room.

"I think he's gone. But he'll be back," he said.

"Maybe not," she said, hopefully. "Maybe he'll never come back."

"He will," he said, resolutely. "He always comes back. He says… he says the most horrible things."

"What kinds of things?" she asked.

"Hateful things. Evil things," he said. "He… he makes me see things."

"Like what?" she said. He had returned his head to her shoulder so she continued running her fingers through his hair. His trembling had stopped, at least, and he was mostly still, except for a few, random shudders that he seemed unable to control.

"Violence. He'll hurt people. Not really, but it looks real to me. He wants me to think he can kill the people I love. Dean… and you."

Liv frowned. Sam's hallucinations sounded like the worst kind of torture.

"I'm sorry, Sam," she said. She didn't know what else to say.

"Me, too," he answered, but she thought she heard the slightest hint of a smile in his voice. He pulled away from her and sat up. "Thank you for staying with me."

"Of course," she said, and patted his arm. "Besties, right?"

"Right," he said, and she then could see, as well as hear, the smile.

He leaned down to hug her and she shifted onto her knees so that she could slip her arms around his neck.

"Think you'll be able to get some sleep?" she asked. Her chin rested on his shoulder and she could smell the faintest trace of his cologne.

"I hope so," he said.

Liv started to pull away but he hadn't let go. She leaned back and smiled up at him. He met her gaze but he wasn't smiling back. Instead, his expression was thoughtful and, perhaps, a little restless.

"Sure you're okay?" she said, her eyebrows raised.

He didn't answer. She opened her mouth to ask again, concerned for him, but suddenly he was kissing her. His long, gentle fingers were on the side of her neck and the back of her head and his lips were on hers, soft and tender. The kiss was delicate, yet eager.

Liv was shocked, and didn't move at first. After a second, when she was really able to grasp what was happening, she simultaneously pulled her head back and shoved his chest away.

"Sam, no!" she said. She landed on her ass, hard. The tile met her tailbone with a teeth-rattling crack.

"Oh, shit… Liv, I'm so sorry," Sam said. The outer corners of his eyes pulled down and he grimaced. "I didn't mean to. I'm really sorry."

Liv winced and rubbed her bottom, certain it was already forming a bruise. Sam hurried to his feet and held out a hand. She took it, cautiously, and he pulled her up.

"It's okay," she said. She wasn't sure if it was okay or not but she was too tired and confused to formulate any other response.

"No, seriously, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for that to happen, I wasn't even thinking about it and I don't know why I did it. I really don't know, I swear!" He was rambling. He might have gone on all night but she was tired and all she wanted to do was go back to bed and stop thinking.

"Sam, stop," she said. "Really, it's okay. Let's just go to sleep, alright? We can forget the whole thing."

"Okay," he said. His shoulders slumped forward. She thought he looked relieved but also disappointed.

Liv stepped out of the bathroom and made her way to the bed she shared with Dean. He was still on his stomach, snoring. He'd kicked all of the blankets onto the floor and was lying diagonally across the bed. Liv grabbed the sheet from the ground and spread it over herself after crawling in beside him. She burrowed in, lifting his arm so she could slip in beneath it. He grunted and hooked the arm around her waist, dragging her across the bed and locking her against him.

Liv traced her fingers over her lips, remembering how Sam's had felt against them. She wanted to forget; no, she wanted it to have never happened.

Sam snapped off the bathroom light and the room was bathed in darkness. She didn't hear him walk across the room but he must have because she heard his bed creak as he lowered himself onto it. The silence seemed corrupt; she kept expecting him to say something.

He didn't, though. She'd grown accustomed to the sounds he made in his sleep; he didn't snore like Dean but his breathing would grow steady and calm and he'd often let out low, sighing groans. She heard none of those sounds and eventually slipped off to sleep, herself.

When she woke, he was already gone.


	28. Chapter 28

**Huge thanks to my new followers and reviewers. Special thanks to DarkestInk, Lenny, and sarahmichellegellarfan1 - you guys rock! Thank you, thank you, thank you!**

 **So, at some point while I was rewatching this episode, I realized that they aren't actually driving the Impala. I'm not much of a car person so when I saw an old, black, muscle car, I just figured that's what it was. Whoops! Anyway, there were a few mentions of the Impala in this chapter but I** ** _think_** **I found and removed them. If not, I'm sorry!**

* * *

"Did you see him? How is he?" Liv asked, the moment Dean walked in the front door.

Sam had only been gone two days when Dean got the call. Sam was in the hospital, with some pretty serious injuries, after being hit by a car. Dean sent Liv to the cabin, in the Jeep, while he went to get information on his brother's condition. She spent the entire day sitting on her hands and arguing with herself over whether she should tell Dean what happened the night Sam disappeared.

"Yeah, I saw him," Dean said, without looking at her. He stomped through the living room and dumped his duffel bag onto the kitchen table.

"And? How is he?" she prodded.

Dean dug around in his bag until he pulled out his father's journal. He dropped it on the table and opened it to the back portion, where the pages were covered with the contact information of other hunters, dozens of them. Dean paged through the book, scanning each entry.

"Is he okay?" Liv said. She jumped up from the couch and stalked over to the table.

Rubbing a palm over his mouth and chin, Dean remained silent. He bent over the table and flipped through the pages of the book until he found an entry that caught his eye.

"Dean!" Liv finally shouted, and pulled on his shoulder.

Dean stood upright, swiftly, and turned on her.

"What?!" he yelled. "What do you want me to say? No, he's not okay! His brains are scrambled and he's unbelievably screwed! The fucking _devil_ is in his head and he's gonna _die_ if I can't figure something out!"

He shoved past her, carrying the journal to the kitchen counter.

Liv crossed her arms and glared at him. She wanted to yell at him, or throw something at his stupid face, but she knew he was worried and angry. Instead, she just stood there, and hoped he would see how useless it was to direct his animosity at her.

"Oh, Jesus, Liv," he said, impatiently, when he looked up from the journal and saw her irate expression. "I really don't have time for this right now."

Liv threw her hands up into the air. "Then tell me what I can do to help! Don't just yell at me!"

"You _can't_ help," he said, with a bitter smile. "There's nothing you can do. Hell, there's probably nothing _I_ can do."

After another second of glaring daggers into his back, she gave up and abandoned him to the journal. "Fine," she said, shortly, and returned to the couch where she dropped down onto the thin cushion. Her ass was still sore from falling on the bathroom tile but, if he heard her wince, he didn't acknowledge it. Instead, he started making calls.

When he wasn't arguing with the people on the other end of the line, he was apologizing for bothering them. Sometimes, he would explain the situation with Sam, or parts of it; other times, he'd barely get his name out before they hung up on him.

Liv watched him pace around the kitchen; she cringed each time he shouted into his phone or flung something across the room in his aggravation. She thought of that night with Sam, and how frightened he'd been. She avoided the memory of their kiss, and focused on his distress and despair. Dean said she couldn't help, that there was nothing she could do, and it ate at her heart.

At one point, Liv made them a simple dinner. She placed Dean's sandwich in front of him and hastily returned to her post on the couch, out of his way and away from his anger. He barely acknowledged her and didn't touch his food. Liv nibbled at a carrot stick and watched him, apprehensively.

He ignored the food she'd prepared but paused his incessant calling to grab a beer from the fridge.

"What the hell…" he mumbled. Liv looked up, her attention caught by the sudden change in routine.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said. "Just dropped something, I guess." He was holding a business card and studying it, looking perplexed.

"What's that?" Liv asked. She approached him slowly, being careful not to get too close.

"I'm not sure," he said, without looking up. "I'm gonna try it, though. Can't hurt."

No one answered at the number on the card, though. Liv heard him leaving the same message he'd already left three dozen times that day.

"Yeah, hi. Uh… my name's Dean. I'm a friend of Bobby Singer's. I'm looking for some info. If you could, call me back at 785-555-0128. Thanks."

He hung up and shrugged.

* * *

"What's that?" Liv asked, later in the evening. She stood behind him, massaging his tense shoulders.

They'd reached a kind of tentative truce earlier in the day. He didn't apologize for snapping at her but, at one point, he had placed a gentle kiss on the crown of her head. The break he allowed himself didn't last long, though; he was back in the kitchen, in front of Sam's laptop, when Liv went in for a glass of water.

"I'm not sure. Some kind of healing group, I think."

" _Amazing Grace Helping Friends_ ," Liv read from the top of the website. "Sounds kinda culty…"

"Yeah, you got that right," he said, and took a drink from the beer bottle beside him.

They both leaned closer to read the rest of the information on the site, but his cell phone interrupted them.

"This is Dean," he said, into the phone.

Liv sat back in one of the chairs to listen in. She rested her elbows on the table and propped her head up in her hands. She was exhausted.

"That's what I would have done," Dean was saying. Liv watched him and realized he was probably even more tired than her. She left the table and started filling the tea kettle, hoping they had instant coffee. She was still searching the cabinets when Dean said goodbye.

"Forget that," he said. "Get your stuff - I might have found someone who can help but we gotta leave, now."

* * *

"What's this guy's name again?" Liv asked. She sat in the front passenger seat of the car with the back reclined.

"Emmanuel," Dean said.

He wouldn't let her drive, even though he hadn't slept in over twenty four hours, and it had only taken them a few hours to reach the home in Colorado. He'd driven straight through the night, stopping twice for coffee, and the sun had already risen when they reached their destination. He insisted they sit for an hour to scope out the house before knocking, though.

"You really think he can help?"

Dean shook his head. "I don't know, but I'll try anything."

Liv nodded. "We better get going," she said.

"You're staying here," Dean said, succinctly.

Liv rolled her eyes. "Of course, I am."

"I need you to keep an eye out. Call me if you see or hear anything weird, okay?" he said, leaning over to kiss her, quickly, before popping the door open and hopping out.

"Yes, sir," Liv said, when she was sure he was out of earshot.

She never got a chance to call, though. Dean never even made it into the house. She watched a man open the door and come out, closing it behind him. An instant later, the man had grabbed Dean's jacket and hurtled him against the door.

Liv jumped out of the car and sprinted across the street, shouting his name. She had only reached the sidewalk when the man dropped, bright lights flashing from every orifice on his face, and slid down the stairs. She stopped short, nearly running into another man, who stood at the foot of the stairs.

"What was that?" the man asked.

Liv looked up at Dean, who still held a bloody knife in his right hand, and was alarmed by his shocked expression. He recognized the man, but from where?

The man showed no signs of recognizing Dean, though, as they entered the house and freed a woman who had been bound and gagged in a chair.

"That creature hurt you," the strange man said to the woman.

"I'm okay," she said. "But, Emmanuel, they were looking for you."

Liv glanced at Dean. This was Emmanuel, the man they had been looking for, but Dean had looked at him as if they already knew each other.

"It's okay," Emmanuel said. He turned to Dean and Liv, his expression grim. "I'm Emmanuel," he said. He held out his hand for Dean to shake, and then nodded to Liv.

"Dean. I'm Dean."

"I'm Olivia. Well… Liv," she said, smiling, shyly.

"Thank you for protecting my wife," Emmanuel told them.

"Your wife," Dean said, in an odd tone. "Right."

"Daphne, right?" Liv asked the woman, who nodded in response.

"I saw his face. His real face," Emmanuel said, motioning toward the basement door. They'd carried the body down to the cellar and covered it with an old rug. None of them knew what else to do with it.

"He was a demon," Dean said.

Liv's eyes widened and she immediately thought of Crowley, but she didn't comment.

"A demon walked the earth," Emmanuel said, almost in awe.

"Demons…" Dean clarified. "Whackloads of them. You don't know about…?"

Daphne stepped forward and took her husband's hand. "You saw the demon's true face," she told him, before turning back to Dean and Liv. "Emmanuel has very special gifts."

"Yeah, I've heard that about … Emmanuel. That you can heal people up," Dean said.

"I seem to be able to help to a certain degree," Emmanuel said. "What's your issue?"

Dean frowned. "My brother."

"Your brother is… ill?" Emmanuel asked.

Dean reached for Liv's hand and she gave it. His fingers tightened around hers.

"He's sick, but it's not physical. It's in his head. Is that something you can help with?" he asked.

Emmanuel thought for a moment. He turned to his wife, as if asking her opinion. She nodded at him and smiled, encouragingly.

"Yes, I believe so. I'd like to try, at any rate," he finally answered.

"Can you leave soon?" Liv asked. "It's kind of urgent."

Emmanuel nodded.

"I can be ready to go very shortly," he said.

"Okay, listen," Dean began. "My car is outside, just across the street. Liv and I'll wait out there for you. When you're ready, come on out. Sound good?"

"Yes, that sounds very well," Emmanuel said. He and Daphne headed up the stairs to collect some of his belongings, while Dean guided Liv out the front door.

"What the hell's going on?" she demanded, as soon as the door closed behind them.

"I don't know," Dean said. He hurried them across the street to the car. "But, I know this… That's not Emmanuel. That's Cas."

* * *

"So… Daphne. Is that… your wife?" Dean asked.

Emmanuel sat beside him in the front seat. Liv listened from the back.

"She found me and cared for me," Emmanuel said.

"Meaning?" Dean said.

"Oh, it's a strange story," Emmanuel said. "You may not like it."

"Believe me," Dean said, sarcastically. "I will."

Emmanuel leaned back in his seat and began. "A few months ago, she was hiking by the river, and I wandered into her path, drenched and confused, and… unclothed. I had no memory. She said… God wanted her to find me."

"So who named you Emmanuel?" Dean asked.

"Bouncy baby names . com."

Dean grinned. "Well, it's working for you. Must be weird not knowing who you are."

"Well, it's my life," Emmanuel said. "And it's a good life."

"Yeah, well, what if you were some kind of… I don't know… bad guy?" Dean asked.

Emmanuel's brows knitted together and he frowned. "Oh… I don't feel like a bad person," he said.

"Whatever happened to you before, you're helping people now," Liv said, from the back seat. She knew about Castiel, and what he'd done, but the man before her seemed too meek and good to have created such chaos.

"I try to," Emmanuel said. He turned back to her and smiled. "Olivia. You are Dean's wife?"

Liv snorted and Dean let out a churlish sigh.

"Not exactly," she said, grinning broadly.

"I see," Emmanuel said. He turned to face forward, again, and contentedly watched the world fly by outside his window.

* * *

At some point, in the middle of the night, Dean allowed Liv todrive. He was so tired; his eyes had begun to close, even as he drove. When the car veered off, toward the side of the road, for the third time, Liv cautiously suggested he let her have a turn. He was too exhausted to argue. She drove past sunrise. Eventually, Dean woke and suggested she pull into a convenience store parking lot so he could get them all coffee.

"You guys wait here," he said, before heading into the store.

"I'd like to stretch my legs a bit," Emmanuel said. He got out of the car and crossed the parking lot, stopping beneath a tree. Liv watched him walk away, and hoped he'd be the solution to their problems.

She sat quietly in the car, waiting. She witnessed a few more people enter the store; two men, who showed up together, and an angry looking young women dressed all in black. Liv looked down at her fingernails and picked at the cuticles. When she looked up, the store's open sign had been flipped so that it read closed, instead. She glanced around, searching for Dean but he was nowhere in sight. She jumped out of the car but had only taken a few steps when Dean pushed the door of the store open and started toward her. He was closely followed by the woman.

"Hi," Liv said when they stopped in front of her.

"Well, aren't you a sweet, little thing," the woman said. Her eyes traveled up and down the length of Liv's body.

"Liv, this is Meg," Dean said, sternly. "Meg is going to mind her own business and not talk to you. Right, Meg?"

"Aye, aye, Captain," Meg answered, with a smirk. Her voice was smooth and fluid.

"Where is he?" Dean asked.

Liv pointed toward Emmanuel, who hadn't moved from beneath the tree.

"Alright, we'll go get him," Dean said. He and Meg headed toward the ex-angel. Liv slid back into the car and watched. She didn't like the way Meg had looked at her.

* * *

After Meg joined them, the drive became even more awkward. Anytime she opened her mouth, Dean would say something to cut her off, especially if she was speaking to Liv.

"This silence is very uncomfortable," Emmanuel said, after an hour of quiet. "Is there something I should know?"

"I don't know," Meg answered. She was in the back, beside Liv. "Dean?"

"No," Dean said. "Meg has that effect. Awkward, you know?"

Emmanuel frowned. "That must be difficult for you," he said.

"Dean's making a joke, Emmanuel," Meg said, snickering.

"Oh."

Another hour of silence passed, another hour of Liv glaring at the back of Dean's head.

"So, Liv," Meg began, with a sly smile. "You and Dean, eh? How long's that been -."

"Anybody wanna check out the map," Dean said, practically shouting. He tossed the map back to Liv and turned to glare at Meg, in the process.

Meg only continued to smile and shrugged, tipping her head to the side.

* * *

The next night, they finally made it to the hospital where Sam had been admitted. Dean parked the car near the emergency exit and they all crawled out.

"Oh, gracious," Emmanuel said, as they took in the crowd of people loitering around the entrance. Some were dressed in nursing scrubs; others wore hospital gowns. One man was even in a wheelchair.

"Damn it," Meg said, sourly. "Demons."

"All of them?" Dean asked, as he peered through a pair of binoculars.

"No grass growing under your feet," Meg muttered.

"How many of those knives do you have?" Emmanuel asked.

"Just the one," Dean said, dismally.

"Yeah, Dean," Meg said in a snarky voice. "Got any other ideas how we could blast through that?"

Dean scowled. "Excuse us," he said. "Meg?"

Liv watched the two of them walk away where they began to argue in quiet whispers. Liv furrowed her eyebrows together and sulked. She wasn't the jealous type, but she was having trouble feeling comfortable when she saw how familiar Dean was with this attractive, vivacious demon woman.

She was too busy being angry and glaring at the ground to notice Emmanuel approach them. When she looked up, she saw that the argument had fizzled, but Emmanuel looked even more distressed. She hurried over, reasoning that he'd already interrupted.

"It's in there. I'm sure it's just like riding a bike," Dean was saying.

"I don't know how to do that, either," Emmanuel said. "Alright, I'll try."

"Is everything okay?" Liv asked.

"He knows," Meg said, simply.

"This ain't gonna go well," Dean said.

Liv had to agree; Emmanuel, or rather, Castiel looked more and more upset and fearful as each second passed.

"I don't know," Meg said. "I believe in the little tree topper."

Castiel stumbled down the brush covered hill to the emergency room entrance while the other three stayed by the car and watched. Any trace of fear disappeared as he approached the group of demons. Liv was astounded by his cool efficiency; she had never witnessed a smiting and it truly was an astonishing sight to behold.

"Oh, my God…" she whispered, under her breath.

"Exactly," Meg said. "That's my boy."

Once the last of the demons had been reduced to a smoldering husk, Liv, Dean and Meg stumbled down the hill to join Castiel.

"That was beautiful, Clarence," Meg said, in a jolly voice.

"Cas?" Dean asked. Liv could see the concern etched on his face.

"I remember you," Castiel said "I remember everything. What I did. What I became. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because Sam is dying in there," Dean said, urgently.

"Because we need your help," Liv added.

Castiel turned and began to walk away. "Because of me. Everything… All these people. I shouldn't be here."

"Cas," Dean called after him. "Cas! You two, stay here," he said to Meg and Liv.

The two women watched them return to the car. Liv couldn't hear what was being said, but Dean's face was pleading. Eventually, he opened the trunk of the car and handed a garment to the angel. Castiel's face set in grim determination and the two men hurried back.

"Let's go save Sam," Castiel said as he slipped into the trench coat Dean had given him, before bursting through the emergency room doors.

* * *

It didn't take long to find Sam; he'd been moved to the electroshock therapy department. When the four of them crashed into the room, Sam's body was jerking and twitching on a table. A nurse stood beside him with his hands on the shock machine.

Castiel hurried forward and placed his hand on the nurse's forehead. Liv saw the man's eyes flash black, for a second, before they burned away.

"I should never have broken your wall," Sam," Castiel said. "I'm here to make it right."

Castiel placed the tips of his fingers on Sam's forehead and held them there, as if expecting something monumental to happen. Instead, there was nothing.

"You're not real," Sam said. His voice was shaky and terrified.

"Oh Sam," Castiel said, sorrowfully. "I'm so sorry…"

Dean ran to his brother's side and helped him to his feet.

"We have to get him back to his room," he said.

It took Dean on one side and Castiel on the other to half carry Sam back to his assigned room. Once inside, they lowered him to his bed where he slumped down on his back and stared up at the ceiling. Dean and Castiel stood beside him, looking down with matching, worried expressions.

"I can't help him," Castiel said.

Dean looked up at him with fire in his eyes. "What do you mean, you can't?"

"I mean there's nothing left to rebuild," Castiel said.

"Why not?" Liv asked.

"Because it crumbled," Castiel said. "The pieces got crushed to dust by whatever's happening inside his head right now."

"Put them back together!" Liv said. She tried to sit next to Sam, on the edge of the bed, but he frantically scooted away from her. Liv felt tears spring to her eyes.

"I can't," Castiel said, again.

"So you're saying there's nothing?" Dean asked. "That he's gonna be like this until his candle blows out?"

"I'm sorry," Castiel answered. "This isn't a problem I can make disappear. And you know that… But I may be able to shift it."

"Shift?" Dean asked.

"What does that mean?" Liv asked.

Castiel ignored them, but went on, as if speaking to himself. "Yeah… It would get Sam back on his feet."

He lowered himself to the bed, beside Sam.

"It's better this way," Castiel said. "I'll be fine."

"Dean, what is he doing?" Liv said, desperately.

"Wait, Cas, what are you doing?" Dean asked.

Again, Castiel ignored them. He raised his hand and pressed it against Sam's forehead.

"Now, Sam," he said. "This may hurt. And, if I can't tell you again, I'm sorry I ever did this to you."

Liv watched, horrified, as a bright, orange light traveled from behind Sam's eyes to Castiel's hand and up his arm. It was like fire beneath their flesh that finally settled behind Castiel's eye sockets. Sam gasped and groaned, his mouth opening and closing like a fish on dry land.

"Sam?" Dean said.

"Dean!" Sam shouted as he opened his eyes.

"Sam!" Liv hurried to Sam's side and grasped his hands.

Sam looked around the room and his eyes widened when he saw Castiel.

"Cas?" he said. "Cas, is that you?"

They all looked up when Castiel backed away, as if trying to escape. His eyes were round, terrified orbs. He pressed his back against the wall, like he was trying to burrow through it.

"What's wrong with him?" Liv asked. "Dean, what's wrong?!"

No matter how much they tried, Castiel wouldn't respond.

* * *

"Are you sure we can trust her?" Liv asked, the next morning. They were hesitant to leave Castiel at the hospital, with only Meg for protection, but Dean insisted it was the safest plan for them all.

"Well, we can't bring him with us. Everything on the planet's out for us, okay?" Dean said. "Word gets out, we can't protect him. Not really. This is safer. Every demon who knows about Cas is dead."

"Not everyone," Sam said. "Look, Dean, this whole enemy of my enemy is my friend thing feels kind of like a demon deal."

"And on top of that, I don't like her," Liv added as she crawled into the backseat.

"It's not a deal," Dean said. "It's -."

"It's what?" Sam interrupted.

"Mutually assured destruction. Look, guys, I get it. She's not our friend. We don't even have friends. All our friends are dead," Dean said as he dropped into the driver's seat.

Liv knew better than to keep arguing. The decision was already made, whether she liked it or not.


	29. Chapter 29

**Okay, you guys are literally the best. Thank you so much for being so kind with your reviews. Sometimes I tear up a little bit when I read them! Thank you, thank you, thank you!**

 **Special shout out to** **acelticdream** **\- thank you! I know I sound like a broken record but I can truly never thank you all, enough. You guys really inspire me to keep writing, which I know is the best way to improve and that, along with entertaining some people, is my ultimate goal.**

 **I was reading through some older chapters and came across some really silly, stupid grammatical errors and bizarre mistakes that don't make sense (like when Liv is thankful she never actually met a real vampire, literally four chapters after she almost got killed by two of them… I felt like a real moron when I caught that one lol). If you guys see any of these, feel free to let me know in a review - I'd really appreciate it!**

 **Holy moly, this turned out to be a long chapter! Soorrrrrry!**

* * *

"Hey, it's your boyfriend," Dean said, dropping his cell phone in Liv's lap. "You wanna answer it?"

She shot him an exasperated glower and picked up the phone to check the caller ID, though she was already fairly certain she already knew who was calling. Sure enough, it was Garth.

"Really funny," she grumbled and tossed the phone back at him.

Dean grinned at her and flipped it open.

"Hello," he said, cheerfully.

"What's he talking about?" Sam asked, from the back of the car. He was sitting diagonally, with his long legs stretched across the entire seat.

"Nothing, don't worry about it," Liv said, bluntly. She had no intentions of explaining what happened between her and Garth; as far as she was concerned, it was ancient history and there was no reason to reexamine the embarrassing events.

"Who is it?" Sam prodded, when she refused to answer his original question. He leaned forward to listen in on Dean's telephone conversation.

"It's Garth," she said, waving him off. She, too, was trying to catch at least Dean's side of the call.

"Yeah, how you doing, Garth," Dean said.

Liv couldn't hear anything Garth was saying on the other end of the line but, when Dean asked where they should meet him, she realized they were likely going to team up for a case.

"Should be six or seven hours til we get there. Think you can hold out that long?" Dean said. He was quiet for a few seconds. "Alright," he eventually said. "See you."

"What was that all about," Liv asked, after he'd hung up the phone and chucked it onto the dashboard.

"Garth's got a situation in Junction City."

"Kansas?" Sam asked.

"What kind of situation?" Liv asked, warily.

"Yep, Junction City, Kansas. Guess he thought it was a ghost but the body count just keeps growing. He's stumped so I said we'd help out. Think you can keep your panties straight around him?" he asked, turning to Liv with an impish smirk.

"Screw you," Liv mumbled, crossing her arms.

"Alright," Sam said. He scooted forward to the edge of his seat. "Someone better tell me what's going on."

"Oh, you don't know?" Dean asked, blithely. He looked back over his shoulder at Sam and opened his eyes wide, feigning surprise.

Liv rolled her eyes and groaned. "Shut up, Dean."

"No, no, tell me," Sam insisted. He glanced eagerly back and forth between them.

Liv sighed and stared out the window. She couldn't tell if Dean's jealousy had returned and he was trying to make light of the situation or if he genuinely enjoyed teasing her for her indiscretion with Garth, all those months ago. "Just get it over with," she said.

"Remember when Liv left the cabin?" Dean asked. He still had that stupid leer on his face.

"You mean when you were an idiot and made her leave and she almost got killed" Sam said, his eyebrows cocked. "Hard to forget."

Dean scowled and shrugged off his brother's accusatory comment. "Yeah, well, before vampire Barbie showed up, Liv spent some time with our good friend, Garth," he said.

"What kinda time? Doing what?" Sam asked. He hooked his elbows over the seat and turned to Liv.

"He's a nice guy!" she practically shouted. She still didn't see what was so funny about her spending the night with Garth. He was kind and sweet and he was a good friend, to all of them.

"You know," Dean said, suggestively, wriggling his eyebrows up and down. "The old pants-off dance-off."

Sam nearly choked. "No way!"

"Yes, way," Dean said. "Knocking the boots. Making the beast with two backs. Riding the bull in the bedroom rodeo."

"Dean, shut _up_!" Liv shouted. She punched him, savagely, in his left bicep. The car veered into the opposite lane; thankfully, the road was empty, aside from their car.

"Hey!" he shouted, overcorrecting and swerving wildly into the shoulder of the road. The headlights shimmied over the road, then the culvert running parallel to it, and finally back to the road, again. "You trying to kill us?"

"What? Wait a second." Sam said, gasping for air. He could barely form intelligible words through his maniacal laughter. "Are you serious?"

"You're not funny," Liv said, glaring at Dean. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw that Sam was doubled over, still laughing uncontrollably. "It's _not_ funny!" she shouted at him.

"I'm sorry," Dean said, in a patronizing tone. She didn't believe him, though. His smile was just too roguish. "You're right, baby; it's not funny. I'm sure dancing the goat's jig with that tall drink of cherry Kool-Aid was an earth shattering experience."

Liv refused to look at him or Sam, who still hadn't recovered from his fit of delirious joviality. Her cheeks burned with angry humiliation and she stared out the window, fuming internally.

* * *

"Am I coming in?" Liv asked. They had finally made it to Junction City and the plan was to meet Garth at the morgue, where they'd be checking out the victims.

Dean looked at Sam and shrugged. Sam nodded.

"Yeah, might as well," Sam said. "You have your Forensic Specialist badge?"

Liv pulled the card from the front pocket of her duffel bag and held it up. The name on the badge was N. Wilson; Dean had made the identification and, of course, had chosen the name. At least she'd talked him out of J. Jett. She still thought it was a little bit obvious but then, she thought all of their FBI aliases were obvious. As far as she knew, no one had ever caught on, though. At least the picture was good. She'd slicked all of her hair back into a neat bun for the photo and she actually looked like a professional.

"Awesome," Sam said. "Got your lab coat?"

Liv dug through her bag and pulled out the long, white jacket. It was a little wrinkled but it would do. She'd replaced the navy dress with a pair of simple, black trousers and a short sleeved, white, silk blouse. The heels remained part of her 'uniform' but she'd been practicing and could finally walk in them without stumbling over every third or fourth step.

"Alright, let's roll," Dean said, after they were all dressed and ready to go.

Liv grabbed the black, leather bound folder she kept her notes in and headed out the door.

* * *

The Geary County Medical Examiner was located near the Junction City General Hospital which turned out to be rather convenient for all of them; they intended to interview the doctors who examined the victims as well as the Medical Examiner who performed the autopsies. They learned from the lobby attendant in the hospital that both bodies had been moved to the Medical Examiner's cold storage the day before they arrived. Because they all needed to see the bodies, and Garth was meeting them there, they decided head for the ME to check out the victims before tracking down the doctors.

When they walked into the examination room, led by a coroner's assistant, Garth was already there, dressed in tan fatigues.

"Well, this is it," the coroner's assistant said. "Gentleman… Ma'am… this is Corporal Brown." He motioned toward Garth, who maintained an impressively stoic expression.

"Corporal James Brown," Garth said. "I'm shipping off to the AF manana. I'm here to pay respects to my cousin as I will not be able to attend the funeral."

"That must be terrible for your family," the coroner's assistant said. "Losing two brothers so fast."

Garth looked surprised by the information; Sam and Dean immediately adopted matching annoyed expressions. Garth had failed to mention that the two victims were brothers.

"Yeah," Garth said, sounding a little flummoxed. "Yeah, my aunt… she's uh… she's real broken up about it."

"Hey, doc," Sam interrupted. "Can we see both files, please?"

"I'd like to see the other body, as well," Liv said. One of the victims was laid out on a table in the middle of the room, covered in a white sheet.

"Mmhmm," the coroner's assistant said. The loud, familiar ringing of a cell phone echoed through the room and he quickly pulled it out of his pocket. "Ah," he said, handing the second file to Sam and motioning toward his phone. "My wife. I'll call someone down to pull out the other body. I'll be in my office."

"Great," Dean said, with a professional smile. The coroner's assistant left the room.

"You didn't say they were brothers," Sam said, vehemently, the instant they were alone in the room.

Garth shrugged. "Dude, I just found out about the other corpse and… started moving quick. I'm sucking up info as I go."

Liv pulled out her notebook and started jotting down the pertinent info from the victim's file. He was young, a teenager, with a high blood alcohol content and a huge, gaping wound in his torso. The photographs in the file were gruesome; some had been taken before the body was washed and prepped for autopsy. The boy's expression was twisted into an agonized grimace, the mouth open wide in a silent shriek. The edges of the wound were ragged and ripped with bits of flesh clinging to his shredded t-shirt.

"What, are you allergic to suits?" Dean asked, still addressing Garth.

"No, I just look good in a uniform," Garth answered, proudly. "What do you think, Liv?"

Rather than answer, Liv closed her eyes and drew a deep, calming breath. The case was quickly turning into a clusterfuck.

Sam rolled his eyes and scanned the second file. "Yep," he said. "Same cause of death."

"Can I see that?" Liv asked. Sam handed her the file and she laid them out, next to each other. The autopsy notes were nearly identical.

Sam walked over to one of the computers in the room and pulled up an internet browser.

"Right," Garth said. "Gutted at night in the woods, where legend says that the ghost of Jenny Greentree roams."

Liv snorted. "Jenny Greentree? Seriously?"

Dean pulled out his EMF detector and held it close to the body.

"Oh, uh, I already scanned for EM…" Garth trailed off as the hand held device began emitting a series of loud wails that intensified the closer Dean held it to the body. "…F. Oh. Um… I guess mine must be broken, again."

"Alright," Dean said, all joking aside. "I'm reading your mail. Ghost of Jenny… whatever?"

"Greentree," Garth jumped in. "That's just it; I torched her bones."

"Yeah, well, maybe she's got something still laying around."

Liv thought of Dean's father's journal, and all the spirit cases he'd recorded. She'd read over many of them and immediately thought the wounds in the boy's body were too vicious, too _physically_ violent, to be an angry ghost.

"Highly doubtful," Garth said. "Chick was homeless."

"She lived in the woods?" Liv asked. Garth nodded.

Dean pulled down the sheet, to the corpse's waist. He frowned as he examined the massive wound. The poor kid was nearly split in two.

"Plus, is it me, or is this less evil spirt, more monster chow?" Garth asked. Liv silently agreed but realized how bad it would look if she sided with Garth, going against Dean. She kept her mouth shut and listened to them discuss the possibilities.

"A werewolf?" Dean asked.

"Except the witness said that whatever was chasing victim numero uno was invisible," Garth said.

Dean snickered. "Uh… so, invisible ghost werewolf?"

"Why'd you think I called for backup?" Garth said.

"Hey," Sam interrupted them, without looking up from the computer. "Any of you ever heard of Thighslapper Ale?"

Liv shook her head. "I'm not really a beer aficionado," she said. She pulled up the sheet to cover the boy's face. With both files in front of her, she doubted she actually needed to see the other victim. The photographs were fairly informative, and the wounds appeared to be extremely similar.

"Is that a stripper or a beverage?" Garth asked.

"Beverage for douchebags," Dean said.

"Number one microbrew in the Pacific Northwest," Sam read from the website.

"But we're in Kansas," Garth said.

Dean snorted, derisively. "Yeah, I rest my case. What's your point?"

"The owner is dad to the dead brothers," Sam said.

"Right," Garth said. "I'll can the uniform, go Fed. See you at the brewery in forty." He hurried out of the room, winking at Liv as he passed. She watched him leave with a mild smile.

"What about me?" Liv asked, already knowing the answer.

"You wait in the motel," Dean said, without looking up.

* * *

Liv moped around the tikki-themed motel room for the rest of the afternoon. She tried to relax by setting up her iPod to play through her most relaxing playlist - Fleetwood Mac, Otis Redding, Cat Stevens… When that didn't work, she settled into the awkwardly placed hot tub for a tranquil soak, but it didn't last long; she was just too keyed up. After she dried off and redressed, she plopped down on one of the beds with the old, battered journal and tried to match up the circumstances of the case with one that Sam and Dean's father had come across, in the past.

She quickly realized that it wouldn't be a matter of not finding anything plausible; on the contrary, there were far too many monsters that would kill and maim their victims in the same manner as the two brothers who had been murdered in the woods.

Her list started simply enough - werewolves, ghouls, morlocks, and shapeshifters were all primary and credible suspects. However, once she started on a third piece of paper and had never even heard of the creatures she was reading up on, such as the yeenaaldlooshii and the gowrow, she decided she was out of her league. She just didn't have the knowledge, or experience, to be able to rule out many of the possibilities.

Liv grabbed one of the pillows and hugged it close to her chest. She drew her legs up and reached out to flip the edge of the stiff, starchy comforter up and over herself. Since she couldn't be useful for the case, she decided to have a nap, instead. The room was chilly, but not cold, and the bed was actually soft and comfortable, for once. After only a few minutes of clearing her mind, Liv fell asleep to the music of Lucy Rose and Ray Lamontagne.

 _She knew it was a dream, even before the room distorted into a murky haze of red lights. The bathroom door was barely open, just a crack, and fluffy, cloudlike pillows of steam billowed out through the narrow opening and filled the room. Liv turned back, to check on Dean, but the bed was empty - he wasn't there._

 _"Sam?" Liv called. There was no answer, but those strange, subdued whimpers continued. "Sam, are you okay?"_

 _She knew he was in the bathroom, and that he was in pain. On a deeper level, Liv understood that Sam and been cured, or rather, he'd been fixed, but somehow, the Sam in the bathroom was still hurting and desperately needed her help._

 _Behind her, the room darkened. The only light came from the bathroom. Liv whirled around and could see nothing beyond a few feet. She hurried toward the bathroom door and pushed it open, blinded by the stark brightness of the entirely white room._

 _He was there, just as she knew he would be, but he wasn't crying or huddled on the floor. He was standing in front of the bathroom sink, looking into the mirror. He was wearing the blue, plaid pajama pants; she thought they might be flannel, or perhaps fleece. His chest was still bare, as were his feet. His eyes were dry and his expression was passive._

 _"Sam…" Liv said, tiptoed across the tile. "I thought I heard…" She trailed off as he turned to face her._

 _The temperature of the bathroom was several degrees cooler than that of the bedroom. Her arms and legs were chilled by the drop and the tiles felt like ice beneath her feet._

 _She approached him, tentatively, unsure if he was truly alright or if she'd missed something; he'd been so good at masking his emotions, even as his mind fractured into a million pieces on the inside._

 _"Are you okay?" she asked him, as she approached the counter._

 _He didn't answer, but he smiled. It was a warm and comforting gesture; she felt waves of relief wash over her. He was really alright; even he couldn't fake that reassuring grin._

 _"I'm so glad you're doing better," she said. Because it was a dream, she wasn't concerned by his lack of participation in the conversation. "Really, I am."_

 _She reached out to take his hand, which he offered willingly. It was so warm and heartening; the heat spread from her hand, up her arm and shoulder, and radiated across her chest. His fingers wrapped around her wrist and he pulled her closer, until their bodies were pressed together._

 _The dream sensations were so realistic; she could feel the soft, downy fabric of his pants against her thighs and lower abdomen. Her tank top was fairly short, and her panties were low riding bikinis , leaving a wide strip of bare midriff. She didn't even realize how frigid the air had felt until she was forced against the fiery warmth of his body._

 _His other arm slipped around her waist and secured her even more tightly against him._

 _"Sam…" she said, in a breathy whisper, but he silenced her by lowering his lips to hers._

 _She wanted to say no, to push him away, but it had been so cold and he was so warm and gentle. It was just an innocent kiss, nothing to create such a fuss over. After a few seconds, she didn't even want it to end._

 _Even as his hand traveled up her back, beneath her shirt, it never occurred to her to pull away. Even when his lips parted and his tongue slipped, so tenderly, into her mouth, gentle but determined, she didn't think it was actually inappropriate. When both of his arms slipped around her waist and easily lifted her up onto the edge of the counter, no warning bells rang out in her head. Instead, she wrapped her own arms around his neck and her legs around his narrow waist. She could feel him, rigid and thick, pressed firmly between her thighs, but she only tightened her knees around his hips and tangled her fingers into his hair, mashing their mouths together in a passionate collision of lips and teeth._

 _The tips of his fingers journeyed from her lower back, where they dug into her sensitive flesh, to just below her shoulder blades, where they danced around the side of her torso and brushed against the lower curves of her breasts._

 _Liv gasped and, in that second of separation, Sam clasped the bottom of her tank top and slipped it over her head. When their bodies reunited, his solid, warm chest felt like molten velvet against hers. Her palms traveled down his shoulders and back, caressing the long, firm bands of muscle that writhed and flexed beneath her touch. They continued down, beneath the elastic waistband of his flannel pants. Her fingernails furrowed into his satiny skin._

 _Sam lowered his lips to the hollow of her throat. The kisses he trailed along the length of her jaw and down to her collarbone were as light as cotton candy, and just as sweet. Liv tilted her head back and shuddered as he nipped and suckled at her neck. When he shifted to the other side of her throat, Liv lowered her chin and tilted her head to the side._

 _Liv let out a quiet, whispery moan, and opened her eyes the slightest bit. The room had grown darker; the fluorescent lights had been greatly subdued and the glaring whiteness of the bathroom was no longer so disorienting._

 _They were no longer alone, though. In the opposite corner, where the shadows were darkest, she could barely make out the form of a person. She couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman, but the presence chilled her blood._

 _"Sam," she whispered, but he didn't seem to hear. His fingers continued to roam over her body, and his lips worked as fervently as ever on her neck and shoulders._

 _The figure in the corner made no sound or movement; she couldn't make out any of its features, but she somehow knew it was watching them, intently._

 _"Sam," she said, again. She pulled away, still hoping to get his attention without alerting their unknown visitor. Sam didn't still didn't acknowledge her._

 _"Sam!" she finally shouted, giving up all pretenses of stealth._

"What?" he said, from across the room.

Liv sat up sharply. Her eyes were still blurry and her head felt like it was stuffed with wads of bubble wrap. Her neck cracked as she whirled around, scanning the room for the dark figure, but she wasn't in the bathroom. She was back in the motel room, surrounded by cheap tikki décor. Dean sat on the sofa, Sam was at the table with the laptop opened on the table in front of him, and Garth sat at the high counter, fiddling with his EMF detector. All three men were staring at her with widened eyes.

"You okay?" Dean asked. He hurried to the bed and sat beside her. "Bad dream?"

Liv nodded. Her fists clenched into two, tight balls and she blinked, rapidly, trying to clear the hazy fuzz from her vision. The blanket had fallen off of her and her arms were covered in millions of tiny goose bumps.

"Vampires?" Dean said. Concern was etched across his face.

"Oh… no…" Liv said. "It was… It was something else. I don't know what it was. Something bad."

Dean nodded and pulled her into his arms. She breathed in his scent and her emotional turmoil immediately vanished; relief cascaded throughout all of her senses. His strong arms tightened around her and she buried her face in his neck.

"You yelled for Sam," he said. "Was he there, in the dream?"

"Yeah," she said, tilting her head up to look at him. "It was pretty awful."

Dean frowned, sympathetically. He leaned down to kiss her; she was eager to feel his lips against hers. Awake, and in their company, Liv felt uncomfortable guilt over the content of her dream.

"I'm sorry, baby," Dean said, as they pulled apart. "Come sit with me, okay?"

Liv nodded and followed him to the small, futon sofa against the opposite wall. She dragged the crappy, motel comforter behind her and tucked it around her legs but she still felt chilled, by the below-average temperature as well as the disturbing dream. She slipped in beside him on the couch, resting her head on his solid shoulder, and he wrapped an arm around her.

" _Afternoon delights_?" Dean said, holding up a folded, standing brochure from the side table. "Really, Garth? Don't you think this place is a little, uh…"

"Uh, you want a nice hot tub after a day at the office. It's the little things. I feel sad for those brewery dudes. Spend your life beautifying the world through beer. First a partner offs himself," Garth said, as he continued to tinker with his EMF device.

Liv took the brochure from Dean and grinned. It advertised the hot tub, vibrating beds that cost a quarter for four minutes, and heart-shaped beds in their 'honeymoon suite'. She was starting to feel better and, when Dean leaned down to nuzzle her neck, she had all but forgotten the frightening, and unsettling, dream.

"Look, this one has mirrors above the bed," Dean said, almost whispering against her throat. He pointed at one of the pictures on the advertisement. The bed in the photo was covered with a zebra print blanket and the carpet beneath it was blood red.

Liv giggled. "Too bad he didn't reserve it. Guess we'll have to make do with the hot tub," she said, looking around the room. "This is literally the tackiest motel I've ever been in."

"Are you even listening to me?" Garth demanded. Liv realized she'd missed the last thing he said.

"Not really," Dean said, frankly.

Garth shook his head, woefully, and turned back to his EMF detector.

"According to this, Dale wasn't just a partner," Sam said. He sat at the table with is computer open in front of him. "He was also the brewmaster."

"Brewmaster?" Dean said, snidely.

"Is that like a kung fu master?" Liv asked. Dean shook his head, but smiled, graciously.

"He was widely considered a genius," Sam said, still staring intently at the computer screen.

"Alright, that's it," Dean said, as he stood up and stalked toward the kitchenette's tiny fridge.

As he passed by, the EMF detector Garth held starting flashing and blaring its warning beeps. Garth smacked it with the palm of his hand and shut it off.

"No microbrew is worth what was it… eight Food Magazine awards?" Dean continued. He handed a bottle to Sam and placed one on the counter beside Garth. "Beer's not food. It's whatever water is…"

He offered Liv a bottle but she shook her head; she'd never really developed a taste for beer.

"Hmm…" he said. "Thighslapper." After a short drink, his skeptical expression disappeared and was replaced by one of surprised pleasure. "Wow, that's actually awesome. Damn it, I'm not even mad anymore."

"Whoa, slow down, Garth," Liv said. He had tilted the beer bottle back and was chugging every drop. The last of it trickled into his mouth and he let out a loud burp.

"Wow," Dean said. "Party on, Garth."

"I don't even usually drink beer," Garth said, with a stupid smile. "It messes with my depth perception. Especially when I skinny-dip. Hey, you guys wanna hear a joke?"

Liv cocked an eyebrow and shook her head. She knew she was a lightweight when it came to alcohol but it would have taken at least three beers for her to reach his level of intoxication. In fact, on the infamous night of their unfortunate, drunken debauchery, she'd had seven beers while he'd only gotten down three.

"Listen to this," Sam said, ignoring Garth. "This is something interesting."

Garth interrupted him with a high pitched chuckle.

"Garth, are you drunk?" Sam asked him.

"Dude, I just drank a whole beer," Garth said, incredulously. "Of course, I'm drunk."

Dean stared at him, appalled, before turning back to Sam. "Something interesting?" he asked.

"Right," Sam said. "Uh…"

"Can I have some more Thighslapper?" Garth asked, suddenly.

"No," Sam said, immediately.

"No," Dean agreed. "Coffee for you, Tara Reid."

Garth snickered. "Coffee with Kahlua in it?"

They all ignored him, again.

"So," Sam began, for the third time. "It says that Dale actually left the company two weeks before he died. Or maybe he got pushed out 'cause he didn't want to sell. I mean, Baxter said the deal's been in the works for months.

"That would explain the widow," Dean said. "She's suing. Maybe Dale had a bone to pick, and he's still picking it."

"Right. So, maybe he's a spirito malo," Garth said.

Liv jumped when the radio scanner on the counter suddenly screeched to life. "Unit to McAnn residence. 698 Washburn," a voice said over the speaker.

"McAnn residence…" Sam said. "As in Jim McAnn?"

"As in, let's hope for their sake our spirto ain't made it out of the woods. Alright, let's go check it," Garth said.

"Uh, you two go," Sam said. I'm gonna go visit the widow."

Liv sighed. She knew what the newest update meant.

"I'll hang out here," she said, deciding to be diplomatic. She knew Dean would make her stay, anyway.

Dean walked over to the couch and set down his beer bottle on the side table.

"I won't be gone long," he promised. She could see the apprehension in his eyes; she hadn't had a bad dream in months but she knew it was something he always feared.

"I'm okay," she said, smiling up at him. "Scout's honor." She held up three fingers.

"Okay, baby," he said, and leaned down to kiss her. She banished the memory of dream-Sam from her mind and focused instead on Dean's lips, firm and insistent.

"Be careful," she said, already knowing he would be.

"Always am," he answered as he grabbed his jacket and headed out the door, after Sam and Garth.

* * *

About an hour after they left, Dean called to tell her to get ready; they were swinging by to pick her up before heading back to the brewery. Liv was anxious to get out of the motel room, and get more involved in the case.

When Garth's el Camino pulled up in the parking lot, she was already waiting outside for them. She slipped into the seat, beside Dean, and immediately smelled whiskey.

"I thought you guys went to check out the McAnn house. It smells like you've been at a bar," she said, wrinkling her nose.

"We did," Dean answered. "And now we have a theory."

"What's your theory?" she asked.

"Booze monster!" Dean blurted out. He took a long swallow from the flask he held before passing it to Liv.

"Eww," she said. "I'm not drinking that. Are you drunk?"

"Not yet," he said. "And, you have to drink it if you wanna help."

Liv grimaced and took a short sip from the flask. The whiskey was cheap and it burned all the way down her throat.

"Ugh…" she groaned.

Garth turned into the brewery's parking lot and pulled into the darkest spot, where the car would be at least partially obscured by the shadows.

"Alright," he said. "You two go find Sam. I'm gonna do a quick circle around the grounds to see who's still here." He jumped out of the car and took off, in a sprint. He rounded the corner of the building and disappeared from sight.

"Can I drink anything else but whiskey?" Liv whined. They both jumped out of the car when Sam pulled into the lot and parked beside them.

"Well, we're at a brewery so there's probably some beer around," he teased.

The three of them hurried across the lot to the side door. Sam had it open in seconds and they quickly edged inside. The building was dark and quiet; Liv didn't think anything was around, but they all tiptoed, nonetheless. Sam mentioned a bottle of sake that Dale had sent to his former partners, before he died. His theory was that the bottle might be cursed.

"Let's go back to McAnn's office," Dean suggested. "Maybe we'll find something there."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure the Japanese box the widow mentioned was in there."

Liv followed closely behind them; she'd never been inside the building, or any brewery, and it was full of huge, metal containers and random machinery. It didn't take long to reach the office, though. Once inside, Sam and Dean quickly found the box and examined it, closely.

"Here it is," Sam said. It sat on one of the decorative shelves behind the desk. Sam picked it up and moved it to the desk, where they could all check out its contents.

He unceremoniously lifted the lid and they all peered inside. There was another smaller, more intricately decorated box, and inside that was a bottle. It had already been opened; the wax seal was broken.

"Whoa, wait a second," Sam said. He picked up the bottle and turned it over in his hands. "Someone's been sampling the goods."

"Oh, you don't say?" Dean said, sarcastically. He looked around the room and his gaze eventually fell on a security camera. "Hey, check it out. God, I love paranoid people." He motioned toward the computer on McAnn's desk. "See if you can get on."

Sam settled into the desk chair and pulled up the computer's security program.

"Okay, uh…" He clicked a few buttons and, voila, the computer screen filled with an image of the three of them, standing in the office. "Huh!" he said. They all waved at the security camera, and their images on the screen waved a split second after.

"Alright," Sam continued. "So, first death was what… uh…. Four nights ago? Yeah?"

Dean nodded. "Mhmm, and Trevor McAnn. Patient zero."

"So, what did he let out of that bottle…?" Sam mused. He rewound the footage on the screen; they all watched Jim McAnn and Randy Baxter, the night janitor, and finally, the boy, Trevor. The video played rapidly, in reverse, but when Trevor showed up, Sam paused the program and began to play it, properly.

Liv picked up the ancient bottle and looked carefully at the writing. It was in Japanese, of course, and she was clueless as to what it might read. She turned back to the screen. The boy was opening the bottle and drinking from it.

"Nothing there," Sam said.

"That we can see," Dean added. He grabbed a bottle of alcohol from the liquor rack and dropped it on the table, along with an empty glass. "Looks like you're in luck, Liv! Lots to choose from."

"What, are you kidding me?" Sam said, incredulously.

"Tick tock," Dean answered, motioning toward the bottle. "Pour yourself a drink and here," he tossed Sam another glass. "One for her, too."

Sam filled both glasses and handed one to Liv, with an apologetic smile. She took a drink from her glass and winced. Whatever it was, it was smooth at first but the familiar burning sensation soon followed.

"Keep going!" Dean shouted, when Liv set down her glass. "Ugh…" He recapped the bottle he had just picked up and returned it to the shelf.

Liv grimaced and took another drink.

"I mean, can you even get drunk anymore? It's kind of like drinking a vitamin for you, right?" Sam said.

"Shut up," Dean responded. He kept opening different bottles and smelling them. "Holy…" He took a drink from one of them and coughed.

When Liv dropped her empty glass on the desk, Dean pointed at it and Sam immediately filled it. She wanted to be helpful, and it was better to just get it over with, so she practically poured it down her throat. The stuff wasn't cheap whiskey from Dean's flask; it was strong, and heady, and she could already feel it numbing her toes, and most of her inhibitions.

Sam and Dean both refilled their glasses and quickly drained them, wincing.

Dean dropped into the chair beside Sam and Liv settled herself into his lap, with her legs up on the desk, crossed at her ankles. He filled all three glasses, again, and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"I don't know how much more I can drink," she slurred, after knocking back her latest drink.

"It's okay," Sam said, chuckling. "I think you're drunk enough." He wasn't slurring his words, but he definitely sounded a more than a little buzzed.

She leaned back, against Dean's chest, and rested her head on his shoulder. Turning toward his face, she reached up and stroked his jawline.

"You're so hot," she said. "Isn't he just like, super-duper hot, Sam?"

Sam choked on the vodka he'd been about to swallow.

"Hear that?" Dean said, with a cocky grin. "She thinks I'm hot."

Sam shook his head and turned back to the computer screen. "I think we're ready to check it out again."

"Alright," Dean answered. "Party time. Rewind and go."

Sam replayed the footage, starting with Trevor opening the bottle. This time, they all saw the woman with long dark hair standing just a few feet away from the boy. She had appeared the instant he broke the seal on the bottle.

"Oh man!" Liv shouted. " What is that?! That's so messed up!" She goggled at the screen, her mouth hanging open, and nearly fell out of Dean's lap as she leaned forward to get a better view of the woman.

"So he… he let that thing out of the box. And it must have just followed him to the place with all the thingies," Sam rambled.

"Yes," Dean answered. "Yes. That's smart. I'm actually kind of drunk." He held up his empty glass and frowned, before grabbing the bottle and pouring in another hefty serving. "What's this? Me likey. I miss these talks."

He took another drink of the clear liquid but let it dribble out of his mouth when an older man burst into the room, startling all three of them.

"What the hell?!" the man shouted.

"Oh, hi!" Liv called out. She didn't recognize the man, but he looked like a friendly sort of person.

"Oh, man…" Dean groaned. "Turn it off, turn it off!" he hissed at Sam.

"FBI, huh?" the man said, angrily. "You know what? You can save it for the cops." He pulled out his cell phone and dialed. Liv could her it ringing from across the room.

"Whoa, whoa, Mr. Baxter," Sam began. "Listen, if… if you just let us explain, you might not-."

He was interrupted by the man shouting suddenly, and falling forward onto the ground. Behind him, Garth held the remote control to the Taser which was embedded in the man's back.

"What the hell did you do?" Liv shouted. She jumped up and ran over to Mr. Baxter. Kneeling beside him, she reached out, gingerly.

"Don't touch him!" Dean yelled. "Not until the… the… you know, the thing stops."

"Is he dead?!" she asked, frantically.

Garth shook his head and pushed a button on the controller. The man immediately stopped twitching and the staticky sound of electrical currents went silent.

"Nah," he said. "Just shocked. He'll wake up, pretty soon."

"We'd better get him out of here," Sam said. "Garth, can you get him back to the motel room?"

"What am I supposed to do with him after that?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know; he just can't stay here. If he wakes up and calls the police before we get this figured out, we won't be able to stop whatever is killing everything."

"Where are you guys going?" Garth asked. He disconnected the Taser from the hooks and slipped it into his jacket pocket.

Sam and Dean jumped up to help carry the man out to Garth's car. Liv carried the box, with the bottle of sake.

"We're gonna figure out what that writing on the box is," Dean grunted, struggling to keep the man's head from hitting the concrete floor or the brewing room.

It took several minutes to get the man into the passenger seat of Garth's el Camino. Liv kept watched, and prayed that the night janitor had already finished his shift.

"I'll go with Garth," she said, once the man was situated. There was just barely enough room for her, sandwiched in the middle.

"Okay," Dean said. "Get back to the motel and stay there. We'll be back as soon as we can."

* * *

Getting the man into the motel room, without anyone seeing, was infinitely harder than it had been getting him into the car. Liv tried to help but she thought she might have been more of a hindrance. For being so wiry, Garth was pretty damn strong. After almost half an hour of wrestling, they finally dumped the man into the hot tub, and Garth covered his head with a pillowcase.

"Alright, chica," Garth said, panting heavily. "I gotta go center myself. Keep an eye on the dude?"

Liv nodded and flopped back onto one of the beds. Her heart was racing and she'd decided she needed to get in more cardio on a regular basis.

"No problemo," she said, flashing him a peace sign, through heavy breaths.

She was still laid out on the bed when Sam and Dean got back.

"Coffee?" Dean asked. Liv jumped up and wrapped her fingers around the hot cup.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you…" she whispered. He'd remembered the cream and sugar.

"Where's Tonto?" Dean said.

Liv pointed toward the patio, where Garth was still 'centering himself' by practicing some very elaborate tai chi.

"Garth," Sam called out. "Where's Baxter?"

Liv cocked her head toward the hot tub, where the man was still unconscious. She had checked on him a few times and he seemed fine, just completely out.

"Dude's a lot heavier than he looks, FYI," Garth said. "But here, thought you might want this back." He handed Dean an EMF detector.

"You have the CEO of the douchiest microwbrew in the US gagged in your hot tub? You really think that's gonna end well?" Dean asked.

Liv shrugged. "What else were we supposed to do with him?"

"I'm not feeling the love," Garth said.

"Anyway, what did you find out?" Liv asked. Sam had carried in the box.

"Alright," he said. "Shojo. Let's see what we can see…" He opened up his laptop and started typing into the search box.

"What's shojo?" Garth asked.

Liv was curious, too. As far as she could remember, there'd been no mention of a shojo in John's journal, and she'd never heard her father or Bobby say anything about one either.

"Japanese booze monster," Dean said. Liv's spirits dropped when he pulled out a bottle of beer. The room had only recently steadied itself around her.

"I guess that would explain why you gotta be drunk to see it," Garth said. "Very poetic. Ooh, creepy…" He looked over Sam's shoulder to check out the website that had popped up.

Liv sat down across from them and rested her face in her hands.

"Okay," Sam said. "So, a shojo is said to roam where there's lots of alcohol. There's lore saying that, back in the old day, if you were plastered enough, you could see one skulking around the breweries in Japan."

"Yeah, but why is this one shredding brewer's kids?" Dean asked. He was refilling the old flask with cheap whiskey.

Sam looked more closely at the computer screen. "Apparently, you can harness the will of a shojo with the right spell box. Then you basically have an attack dog that you can sic on whatever sort of personal revenge mission you want."

"So Dale nabs one to punish his pals," Dean said, nodding.

"How come the two partners aren't dead yet? And how is it doing what he says if he's already dead?" Liv asked. It seemed to her that the shojo would have had many opportunities to take out Dale's enemies.

"Send the bottle, sooner or later it's popped open. Then you have a shojo that will do whatever Dale compelled it to do right here on the box. Seems like the instructions were already written before he died," Sam said.

"Wait, except it's not killing the people that screwed him over," Garth said.

"Well," Sam said. "Dale's widow said the company was his baby. So, if he really wanted his friends to feel what he felt…"

"He would take theirs," Dean finished for him. "Well, their kids. Jim's, anyways."

"And Baxter was the godfather," Sam said.

"Alright, skip to how do we gank it," Dean said.

"Good news," Sam said. "It _is_ killable."

"But…" Liv said. She could tell by the tone of Sam's voice that it wouldn't be easy.

"But, only with a samurai sword consecrated with a Shinto blessing."

"Well, that's not a silver lining. Alright, the shojo already cleaned house, right? I mean, Marie's the last target standing so… I'll hit the pawn shops and look for the sword… and you two babysit Marie," Dean said. He pointed at Liv and Sam.

Liv jumped when Garth's EMF detector starting wailing.

"Yikes…" he said. "Sorry…"

"Don't worry about it," Dean said. He snatched the device out of Garth's hands and switched it off.

"Unless I've got nothing to be sorry for," Garth continued.

"Garth," Dean said in a warning tone. Liv looked up, her eyes narrowed.

"What's he talking about?" Sam asked.

"I'm concerned that Bobby might be haunting you," Garth said. "I brought it up to Dean, and he shot me down."

Liv frowned. Bobby had been cremated; he couldn't have become a restless spirit. Then, her eyes fell on the flask in front of Dean.

"Garth, leave it alone!" Dean said, heatedly.

"It's okay," Sam said. He didn't sound upset at all; in fact, he sounded like he'd been expecting the conversation.

"No, it's far from okay," Dean grumbled.

"I've already tried contacting Bobby," Sam said. Dean looked up at him, angry and surprised. "When that beer disappeared, I pulled out a talking board," Sam continued.

"Without me?" Dean demanded.

"Or me…" Liv muttered. Since Bobby's death, she'd been regularly plagued with bouts of guilt; she'd never had a chance to apologize to him. He'd been angry at her when he died.

"You know, I figured, why drag you guys in," Sam said. "When it's something I could just put to bed myself."

"And?" Dean asked.

"And, if he was there, I'd have told you," Sam said, resolutely. Liv didn't know if she felt relief or disappointment.

From the hot tub, Randy Baxter groaned and shifted positions.

"We'll talk about this later," Dean said. "You two follow Marie. Let me borrow your keys."

* * *

It didn't take long to track down McAnn's only surviving child, Marie. She was hanging out in a bar, downtown. Liv and Sam took seats at the counter and watched her through a mirror.

Liv asked for a glass of white wine and sipped it, cautiously. If she didn't need to be plastered, again, she didn't intend to be. Sam had whiskey but she noticed he also took tiny, careful drinks.

When his phone chirped, they both red the message from Dean together. He'd found the blade, and was having it 'blessed' in a back alley.

"Do you think it'll work?" Liv asked.

Sam shrugged. "Probably. And if it doesn't, we'll figure it out."

The both finished their drinks over the next twenty minutes and were starting on seconds when Sam's phone rang.

"Yeah," he said. Liv listened, quietly.

The conversation was short and Sam didn't get out more than a few words. When he hung up, he dropped two twenties on the bar and stepped out of his seat.

"We have to go," he said. "I guess the janitor is Baxter's kid and the shojo is after him."

"What? There's another kid?! Neither of us can drive," Liv insisted.

"Yeah, we'll have to get a cab," he answered.

They were lucky, though. Sam was able to commandeer a cab just outside of the bar. A few minutes later, they were running through the brewery, searching for Garth. They nearly ran into a young man in a janitor's uniform, who Sam seemed to recognize and Liv realized was the estranged son. Which meant the shojo was close by.

"Whoa, whoa, easy!" Sam said.

"We got to get out of here, man," the kid yelled. "It's here!"

"Where's Garth?" Liv shouted.

The kid kept moving. "Who?!"

"Garth!" Sam yelled.

"There was a guy," the kid stammered. "He got knocked out!"

"Okay," Sam said.

Liv caught movement in her peripheral vision and, when she turned, saw the shojo quickly approaching them. Sam must have seen it, too, because he pushed her and the janitor behind him.

"Stay behind me, stay behind me!" he said.

"Okay, okay," the kid said. "What, you can… you can see it?"

"Yeah," Sam answered. "I'm skunked. Just uh… fire exit, on three."

Liv whirled around, searching for the shojo, but it was nowhere in sight.

"Okay," the kid said.

"Alright," Sam said, but before they could start moving, the fire exit door slammed shut. "Okay, so much for that…"

Suddenly, the shojo was right in front of them. It lunged at Sam and sent him flying into the wall. He fell to the ground, knocked out. The plaster above him was cracked and crumbled around him.

"Oh, shit…" Liv said. The shojo stared right at her, only a few feet away. She could see its empty, black eyes. It bared its teeth and lurched toward her. Behind her, the janitor shouted

"Get back!" Dean shouted. Liv didn't know where he'd come from but he was suddenly in front of her, between her and the shojo. She hurried to Sam and crouched beside him; he was breathing but unconscious.

"I think he's alright," she called out to Dean, who was wildly swinging a long, narrow sword. Liv realized he wasn't intoxicated; he couldn't see the shojo. "Watch out!" she yelled as it materialized in front of him. It struck him and he fell to the ground. The sword clattered away from him, out of his reach.

"Dean, are you okay?" Liv shouted. She was about to run for the sword when it inexplicably slid across the floor, into Dean's hand. Liv's mouth formed a round circle of shock, but didn't have time to try and sort out the physics of it.

"I'm fine; stay with Sammy!" he yelled back. "Where is it?!"

Sam raised his head as Dean struggled to his feet.

"Swing right!" Sam shouted.

Dean swung the sword to the right, but the shojo was on his left.

"My right…" Sam said.

Dean continued to swing as Sam and Liv shouted directions but the shojo ducked and turned away from the sword. It was too slow, though, and with one powerful thrust, Dean plunged the sword into its abdomen. It appeared in front of him, its expression shocked and angry. It let out a resounding, earsplitting shriek and evaporated. The sword fell to the ground.

"You okay?" Dean asked the janitor.

"I'm alive, yeah," he answered.

"Sam?" Dean said, turning to his brother. Liv was helping Sam to his feet.

"Yeah," Sam said, flashing a thumbs up.

"Where's Garth?" Dean asked.

"Well, he's… he's over this way," the janitor said, motioning toward a large window that had been shattered. Even the frame was broken and jutted out at odd angles.

"Would you go get him?" Dean asked.

"Alright," the janitor said. He and Sam hurried through the broken window to where Garth lay, in a heap. Liv skipped after them.

"What'd I miss?" Garth asked, groggily, as they stood him on his feet.

* * *

"You sure you guys don't want to hang out?" Garth asked, the next day. They had checked out of the motel and were carrying out their bags to their respective vehicles..

"Tempting," Dean said. "But, uh... we better roll," Dean answered.

"Alright, well…" Garth began. He surprised Dean with a big, bear hug, and then moved on to Liv. Dean cleared his throat when the embrace lasted a few seconds longer than was typically considered normal. "Call me anytime," Garth said, as he released her from his grasp.

"Alright," Dean said.

"And you, Sam," Garth said, holding out a hand.

"Yeah…" Sam said. They shook but before they let go, Garth had drawn Sam in and wrapped his long arms around him.

"Uh… yeah. Thanks, Garth," Sam said awkwardly.

"Sayonara, kemosabes," Garth called out. He pointed at the old, battered car they'd been traveling in. "Nice ride."

He dropped into the driver's seat of his own el Camino and started the engine. Loud music reverberated out the windows and he pulled away.

"You're right," Sam said. "He grows on you."

The three of them waved goodbye as he turned right, out of the parking lot.

"Alright," Sam said. "So, let's talk about it."

"What are we talking about?" Liv asked. She crawled into the back seat of the car.

"Yeah, about what?' Dean said. "Oh, the talking board? That's fine. I get it, I guess."

"No, not that," Sam said. "Look, I heard you."

"Heard what?" Liv asked.

"What happened in the brewery, Dean?" Sam asked.

"Nothing, it was uh… it was just my imagination," Dean said.

Liv glanced back and forth between the two of them. She didn't know what either of them were talking about.

The two of them headed back into the motel room to get the rest of their stuff. Liv jumped out of the car and ran after them.

"I just want you to be straight with me," Sam was saying, as she stepped into the room.

Dean let out an exasperated sigh. "The blade was across the room and then it was in my hand. And then my beer drank itself. Oh, and then that page magically appeared on the bed. And… and then Bobby's book fell down and out popped the number of the guy who found Cas. Nothing, I'm sure."

"Clearly," Sam said.

"Hey, why didn't you tell me about any of this?" Liv demanded.

"Listen, babe, I'm sorry but I didn't know what to think. I didn't want you to get upset, either of you," Dean said.

"You know what I think, Dean? I think that regular people, they see ones they lost everywhere, too," Sam said.

"Yeah, freakin' ghosts!" Dean shouted.

"Or they just miss them a lot. I mean, they see a face in a crowd, we see a book falling off the table," Sam said. "Same thing, Dean. I did the talking board, I ran plenty of EMF. When that beer went poof, I went a little nuts."

"Yeah, but why didn't you tell us?" Liv asked. "Why am I just hearing this now, from both of you?"

"Like I said, little nuts at the time," Sam said, frowning.

"Alright, well, if it wasn't Bobby, then what jedi'd that sword into my hand?" Dean asked.

Sam sighed. "The shojo slammed the door from across the room. Maybe it was trying to grab the sword, too."

It didn't ring right in Liv's opinion, but she didn't argue.

Dean cleared his throat. "Right, right. I mean, if it was Bobby, he would let us know. I mean, who knows more about being a ghost that Bobby? Instant Swayze, right?"

"Exactly," Sam said.

"Okay. Okay, you… so your theory is that - that we're practically regular people about something for once," Dean said, nodding his head. "Alright. Well, you guys wanna grab some brunch and some brews?"

Liv made a disgusted face.

"Ugh, no," Sam said. "I'm so hung over. Let's just hit the road."

"Yeah, if I put anything in my stomach, I'm just gonna puke it up," Liv added.

"Alright," Dean said. They gathered up the rest of the bags and stepped outside.

A few minutes later, they were in the car, about to leave. Dean paused and jumped out.

"Hang on," he said, and hurried back into the motel room.

Liv wanted to talk more about Bobby, but not with Sam or Dean. She didn't know if _they_ really believed what Sam was saying, but _she_ certainly didn't. It didn't seem right. The blade… all the strange things that Dean mentioned… She wasn't convinced, but she wanted to think it over for a while before bringing it up, again.


	30. Chapter 30

**Well, this is just a chapter of milestones!**

 **1 - Chapter 30!**

 **2 - Our Sammy turned 33, today! (Or yesterday, depending on when I get this posted…) ((Okay, okay, ended up being a couple days late. I'm sorry!))**

 **3 - 100 followers! What?!**

 **4 - 100,000 words!**

 **Thanks, all of you, for getting us to where we are. I appreciate you all, so, soooo much!**

 **.2016 - Oh, yes, she did! Liv may be in love with Dean but Sam is still super hot, amirite?!**

 **Lenny - I'm really glad you liked the dream. I was about 50/50 while writing it but I really wanted to include some of the awkwardness Liv feels, being around him after what happened. And I'm glad you like the long chapters! Sometimes, I get a little carried away…**

 **I'm especially excited about this chapter because I finally got to write something more original. Of course, I love every episode and rewriting them to include Liv is always fun, but it's nice to be able to come up with an entirely new case, where Liv can be more involved without messing with the original storyline. I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!**

 **Special thanks to Bon Jovi, John Cougar Mellencamp, and, of course, the creators of Supernatural. All credit goes to them, except Liv, who is all mine!**

 _"_ _She says we've gotta hold on to what we've got  
It doesn't make a difference if we make it or not  
We've got each other and that's a lot for love  
We'll give it a shot!"_

She could _not_ sing. She was adorable and passionate and really belted out the lyrics from the tiny, karaoke stage but, Lord, could she _not_ sing. She was completely off-key, her tone was entirely flat, and her voice cracked each time it traveled even the slightest bit out of her natural range but he loved listening to her knock out those power ballads because her eyes never left his and every song was dedicated to him.

 _"_ _Whoa, we're halfway there  
Whooooaaa, livin' on a prayer  
Take my hand and we'll make it I swear  
Whoooa, livin' on a prayer!"_

She danced around the stage like teenage girl at a Taylor Swift concert. At some point, probably in the last half an hour, she'd lost her shoes, of course. Her hair was messy and wild; it had gotten so damn long, it took him ages to brush it out. Sometimes she'd wake him up in the middle of the night, yelping in pain, because he'd rolled over onto those long, wavy tendrils and locked her in place.

She was wearing a long, floaty skirt that tied at the waist; there were bells attached to the strings and, even over the music, he could hear them jingling as she twirled around the stage. The pink tank top she wore had hitched up her midriff; when she spun around, he could see the anti-possession tattoo he'd insisted she get a few weeks ago. He remembered teasing her at the tattoo parlor, suggesting she get the image of his face tattooed on one of her butt cheeks. She'd adamantly shaken her head, no, and reminded him that she already had his name permanently etched into her skin. She was only joking, too, but it wasn't funny anymore, after that. He still struggled with guilt and self-loathing when he saw those jagged letters on her torso.

The song ended and he watched her run over to the DJ, who was manning the karaoke machine, and hugged him. The tiniest tinge of jealousy bit into Dean's stomach but it vanished when she turned to him and smiled. Her face was flushed when she finally plopped down on the barstool beside him.

"How'd I do?" she asked, sweaty and breathless.

"Amazing. Incredible. Like friggin' Tina Turner, but better," Dean said. She beamed up at him and wiped away a trickle of perspiration that had made its way down her throat.

"It's hot up there under those lights!" she said. He had ordered her another peach daiquiri and she took a long swallow from the frosty drink. "When are you gonna come up and do a duet with me?"

"Yeah," Sam added. "You love karaoke. There's gotta be some Survivor or Seger or even Bad Company."

Dean grinned. "I do love Survivor," he said.

"Oh, no! I got it!" Liv shouted. She slurped down a quarter of her daiquiri and ran back to the DJ, who looked all too happy to find the song she requested.

Liv was the only person volunteering to sing; the bar was actually pretty quiet for a Saturday night. She had quickly befriended the poor man, who seemed absolutely thrilled to find someone so enthusiastic. Dean couldn't hear what they were saying but, only a minute after Liv approached the table, the music, Elton John, cut off abruptly and was replaced by a familiar tune. Liv snatched up one of the microphones and took her place on the stage. She beckoned to Dean with one, hooked, indexed finger and held the microphone to her face.

 _"_ _When I was a young boy  
Said put away those young boy ways  
Now that I'm getting' older, so much older  
I long for those young boy days  
With a girl like you  
With a girl like you  
Lord knows there are things we can do, baby  
Just me and you  
Come on and make it hurt!"_

"I love her but that girl could really benefit from some lessons," Dean said but, in his heart, he knew he would never want her any other way. Nor would he ever suggest singing lessons to her, not if he wanted his nose to remain unbroken.

"Hey, man, you better get up there!" Sam urged him. "You'll miss the chorus."

Dean chugged the remnants of his beer and hurried up to the stage. He grabbed the second microphone and slipped an arm around Liv's waist.

 _"_ _Hurt so good  
Come on, baby, make it hurt so good  
Sometimes love don't feel like it should  
You make it hurt so good!"_

She stepped back and clapped along with the beat, while he sang the next verse. Neither of them needed to refer to the little television screen where the lyrics filled the screen and a little, bouncing, smiley face followed along.

 _"_ _Don't have to be so exciting  
Just tryin' to give myself  
A little bit of fun, yeah  
You always look so invitin'  
You ain't as green as you are young  
Hey baby, it's you  
Come on, girl, now it's you  
Sink your teeth right through my bones, baby  
Let's see what we can do  
Come on and make it hurt!"_

She jumped in for the chorus and they took turns, singing verses to each other and giggling like fools.

Maybe it was the beer, he'd had about seven, but Dean couldn't remember being so happy for months. Sam was back, Liv was safe, Cas was alive and perhaps a smidge crazy but Dean had faith that the angel would recover, and Bobby was dead but, miraculously, he was still with them. They were all angry that the older hunter hadn't followed his reaper to heaven, where he most certainly belonged, but Dean would have been lying to himself if he said he hadn't felt an overwhelming relief, and even joy, when he realized that Bobby's spirit had stayed behind.

When Bobby had died, a part of Dean died, just as a part of him had died along with his father, and Jo and Ellen, and Ash, and his mother. He didn't know how much of him was left, to be honest, but having that piece of Bobby back, no matter how unnatural, brought him comfort. Life was far from perfect, but he had his brother, his girl, and a decent part of his surrogate uncle; he was borderline content and it felt good.

Until he remembered the Leviathan. No amount of tacky karaoke or cheap beer could make the monsters go away and they were no closer to destroying them.

By the time they finished their song, all of the other patrons of the bar were clapping along with Liv and cheering.

"Another one?" Dean asked, but Liv shook her head.

"I'm too tired. What time is it?" she asked.

Dean held up his watch and squinted through the smoky haze. It was past one and he was feeling it.

"It's late," he said. "Wanna head back to the motel?"

Liv nodded. She slipped into her seat at the table and sucked on the straw in her daiquiri.

"Awww… Sam didn't get to sing!" she said, frowning.

"Sam didn't want to sing," Sam said. He smiled but Dean could see that his heart wasn't in it.

"You okay, Sammy?" Dean asked. He couldn't help being worried about his brother. The crazy was gone but Sam was still struggling with having normal thoughts and dealing with them in a conventional way.

"What? Oh, yeah, I'm fine," Sam said, with the same weak smile.

"Tired?" Liv said. She pushed away her glass, though it was still half full.

"Very," Sam answered. "You guys about ready to get outta here?"

"Yeah, we were just talking about that," Dean said. He pulled out his wallet and dropped three twenties on the table. Their waitress, a leggy blonde who flirted more with Liv than either of the guys, was nowhere in sight. "You okay to drive?"

Sam nodded and set down the beer he'd been nursing. He'd offered to be the designated driver, even though Dean rarely got drunk no matter how much he drank.

The air outside the bar was surprisingly chilly. They were in southern Oklahoma, where April was a murky conglomeration of hot, humid summer and cooler spring. That day had been warm, but the night had brought with it a cold front. Liv shivered in her thin tank top. Dean draped his jacket over her shoulders. He was comfortable in his layers and had only brought the jacket for her, anyway.

"Where's Bobby?" Liv asked, as she crawled into the backseat of the Jeep.

Sam slid into the driver's seat as Dean got in beside Liv.

"He's back at the motel, I guess," Dean said.

"Dude, can't you sit up here? I feel like a taxi driver," Sam complained.

Dean sidled closer to Liv and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "No-can-do, kemosabe," Dean said. "Gotta keep my girl warm, back here."

"It's not _that_ cold," Sam mumbled, but he started the Jeep and backed out of the parking space.

"Why didn't you bring the flask?" Liv asked.

Dean shrugged. Bobby's presence had been sketchy since Annie died. He popped in for a few seconds once, late one night after Liv and Sam had fallen asleep, looking tired and out of sorts. He'd tried to talk to Dean but didn't seem able to muster the strength to actually speak before disappearing, again.

"I'd say it's in pretty poor taste to take a ghost to a bar," Sam said.

"I just hoped to talk to him," Liv said, frowning.

Because Dean hadn't allowed Liv anywhere near the old Van Ness house, the most she'd seen of Bobby was a message in the shower steam of a mirror, which vanished within seconds of appearing. Dean knew she wanted to see Bobby, to apologize for the whole mess with Crowley, but he didn't know how to make the man reappear.

"He'll be back," Dean said, reassuringly. "He just needs some time to recover. That case in Bodega Bay was pretty rough, for all of us."

"I really am sorry about your friend," Liv said.

"Yeah," Sam said, gloomily. "Annie was a pretty cool chick."

"She was tough," Dean added. Annie had been a good friend, and an even better hunter.

"Did she hunt alone?" Liv asked. There was a touch of something in her voice, something Dean couldn't quite distinguish.

"She did, for the most part," he said, carefully. "I helped her out a few times and Bobby did, too."

"Me, too," Sam said, from the front seat.

Liv nodded. "So she got into it. The fighting and all that. She could take care of herself?"

Dean sighed. He had figured it out.

Since they'd started training, Liv asked to be involved in more than just the research. She wanted to fight, to do more than read, but Dean didn't think she was ready. She would never have been able to take on the shojo, alone, and the vetala in Junction City could easily have killed her before Dean showed up. She wanted to fight but he knew she would only get herself, or all of them, killed.

"Obviously, she couldn't take care of herself because look what happened," Dean said, firmly.

Liv folded her arms across her chest. "That's not fair; how long did she hunt on her own without anything bad happening?"

"It _is_ fair because she got herself killed," Sam said. He pulled into the motel's parking lot and eased the Jeep into a space just outside their rooms.

"But, if she had backup, she would have been fine, probably," Liv pointed out. Dean agreed, Annie most likely would have survived the Van Ness house if she hadn't gone in alone, but he wasn't about to admit that to Liv.

"She'd also been hunting for years. She was a seasoned hunter and she still got killed," he said. He popped open the car door and jumped out.

Sam yawned and waved goodnight, heading into his own room, just next door. Dean pushed open the door of the unit he was sharing with Liv and snapped on the lights. He had hoped that the argument would end, but Liv didn't stop.

"But, again, if you or Sam had been with her, she would probably be okay. And I'll always have one of you with me," she said. She kicked off her leather sandals and dropped her bag onto the small table in the kitchen area.

"Baby, you came along on the shojo case, didn't you? You didn't get stuck in the room the whole time." Dean said. He sat back on the bed and shrugged off the heavy, grey, denim shirt he wore over his t-shirt.

"Yeah, and you didn't let me do anything. You sent me to a bar with Sam and it was just luck that we got to the brewery before you!" she groaned. "You only let me leave the motel because you thought I'd be babysitting that guy's daughter in a public place the whole night."

Dean didn't want to be too harsh but, the truth was, she hadn't been much help with the shojo. He didn't want to hurt her feelings but he honestly believed that she wasn't ready.

"Liv, what would you have done against the shojo? I mean, it was right there in front of you. And I didn't want to bring up the vetala but those bitches almost smoked you, too," he said, in as gentle a tone as he could manage.

He immediately knew he'd said the wrong thing. Her cheeks flushed and her hands balled up into tight fists.

"Yeah, what about Sam? The vetala got him first and so did the shojo. Hell, out of me, Sam, and Garth, I'm the only one that _didn't_ end up unconscious on the floor! But, I don't see you tucking little Sammy under your wing and not letting him out of your sight! And, of course, I couldn't fight the damn shojo - we had one weapon and you insisted on carrying it! One weapon, which, by the way, _you_ lost control of and only got back because Bobby helped!"

Dean fell back on the bed and closed his eyes. He knew she'd keep going, all night maybe, if he didn't shut her down, quickly.

"Alright, alright," he said. "Listen, keep reading Dad's journal. Next case, you can take point. I'll be your backup." He was too tired to keep arguing.

"Next case? What about _this_ case?" she asked, in a threatening tone.

"I don't know enough about this case, yet," he said, without opening his eyes.

Sam had found the case they were working a few days after they'd ganked the shojo. A cemetery was being vandalized, but it wasn't just kids tagging gravestones or lighting bonfires, and it wasn't satan worshippers performing rituals. Bodies were missing, some of them as old as the cemetery itself, but some of them were fresh. Sometimes, only parts of the bodies were missing, and teeth marks had been found. Sam scoured the police report but there was very little information. All they knew, for sure, was that the teeth marks weren't human, but they didn't match any of the local wildlife, either. Something was eating corpses, and no one knew what.

The case had taken a dangerous turn two days prior, when a teenage couple had been attacked. The boy, a sixteen year old named Dylan, was found, dead, with numerous bite wounds and chunks of flesh ripped away. The girlfriend, a cheerleader named Cara, was missing.

"I thought you already knew it was a ghoul," Liv said. She didn't sound angry anymore, just curious.

Dean finally looked up at her. She had sat beside him on the bed and was leaning over him. "A ghoul wouldn't attack the living; there's still plenty of corpses in that boneyard to keep a one satisfied."

"So what else would eat corpses and want to kill people?" she asked. She dropped down beside him and propped her head up with one hand, her elbow bent.

"No clue. We're gonna have to do some serious recon to find out what's out there."

Liv's eyebrows furrowed together. "So, why aren't we out there right now? It's nighttime; this is when it would be active, right?"

Dean looked away, quickly. He had hoped she wouldn't come to that conclusion.

"That's a good idea," he said, trying to sound bright and positive. "We'll try that tomorrow. We should get to sleep, though. I'm beat."

Liv glared at him. "You dick! You were gonna go out there, tonight!" Her eyes widened in shock and angry disbelief. "That's why Sam didn't drink; you two were gonna wait until I fell asleep and then go to the cemetery!"

Dean closed his eyes again, and groaned. He thought his plan was foolproof. She was such a heavy sleeper and he'd been pushing those damn daiquiris on her all night. She should have passed out within minutes of getting back to the motel but she'd been dead set on arguing.

"That's ridiculous," he said, hoping to still get out of it, but it was too late.

"Don't lie to me," she shouted, poking him in the ribs.

"I'm not lying!" he insisted. As if on cue, his cell phone vibrated from the pocket of his jeans.

"Give me your phone," she said in an absolutely volatile tone.

"What? No way," he scoffed.

Liv held out her hand, her eyes narrowing.

"Phone. Now," she said.

"You're being crazy," he said. He couldn't say for sure who the message was from but he had a pretty good idea.

Liv jumped on top of him and jammed her hand into his pocket. Her knees dug into his chest, forcing the air out of his lungs and, in the few seconds that he was stunned, she snatched the phone and flipped it open.

" _Is she asleep yet? Save the hanky panky for when we get back, you tool_ ," she read Sam's message. Her nostrils flared and he was afraid smoke might come snorting out. "You two suck!"

"Alright, fine!" he growled, rolling them so that she was beneath him with her wrists pinned down in his hands. "You got me, but this case is messed up! If it's a ghoul, it's some kind of weird variety that I don't know about and I'm not gonna take you out there without knowing what we're up against."

Liv glowered up at him, her hair fanned out around her head. "Very not cool," she said. He could tell that she was furious, perhaps more angry than he'd ever seen her, before.

"Look, I'm sorry," he said, and he really was sorry but he didn't regret the decision to trick her; he only regretted getting caught. "I just don't want anything to happen to you."

Liv wriggled beneath him and he released her wrists, letting her go. He could easily have held her, but the look on her face was too frightening.

She stood up dropped the phone on the bed before stomping toward the bathroom. When she looked back, her angry expression had been replaced by one of hurt and betrayal.

"You'd better get going. He's waiting for you," she said, in a low voice, and disappeared into the bathroom. Dean heard the door lock, a sure sign of her ire; Liv was not the type to play games; if she locked the door, she genuinely didn't want to speak to him. He slumped back onto the bed, sighing.

When the phone buzzed - Sam again - he stood up and slipped back into his denim shirt. He walked toward the bathroom door, where he could hear the shower running inside. He wanted to knock, to tell her goodbye, but his knuckles stopped just inches from the door. Instead, he checked the mattress for her knife, and the bedside table for her gun. Both were in place. Satisfied that she would be safe, he left the motel room, without disturbing her.

* * *

Liv had never been so angry in her life. Not only was he forcing her to stay behind _again_ , but he had been planning on lying to her, as well. Some people would say leaving without telling her was different from actually being dishonest, but she wasn't buying it. A lie of omission was still a lie, plain and simple.

She sat on the edge of the bathroom counter, while the room filled up with steam from the shower. The water was on full blast, as hot as it could go. She had gone into the bathroom, planning to take a bath, but another idea was slowly forming. She heard the heavy door open and close as he left and her fury spiked. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, tears of pure frustration and resentment. Letting the water run, she cracked the door to verify what she already suspected; he was gone.

Liv turned off the faucet and hurried out of the bathroom. Her duffel bag sat on the floor, on her side of the bed. She tore through it, grabbing her black jeans and a long sleeved, black t-shirt. The jeans were tight but the fabric was flexible, perfect for skulking through a cemetery at night. She tied her hair up into a messy bun; it was sloppy but it would do for keeping the whole mess out of her face and from getting tangled in errant branches. Thankfully, for the first time ever, she didn't have to worry about shoes; she had purchased a pair of low-top, black keds a few days before. They were stiff and uncomfortable but they were a million times better than her old sandals for what she was planning on doing.

The cemetery was only a few miles away; Dean had made sure to pick the motel closest to the crime scene. Liv tucked her revolver into the back of her jeans, after making certain the safety was on. The leather sheath for her knife was too large to fit beneath the jeans. Instead, she strapped it to the outside, around her right ankle, and snapped the knife into place. She had no other weapons and, after slipping into her black, denim jacket, she stepped out of the motel room and let the door close behind her.

The Jeep was gone, of course. She scowled; they hadn't even asked to borrow _her_ car. Assholes.

Liv took a moment to survey the area. They had driven by the graveyard twice, so she knew in which direction she would find it. That left one decision; to follow the road or to go through the woods, which she was certain would be a shortcut if she could get through without getting lost. Following the road actually took her in the opposite direction as her destination for quite a distance before it looped around; the woods, however, lead straight to and actually bordered one side of the cemetery.

Liv rubbed her palms on her jeans and nibbled on her lower lip. She wasn't afraid of the forest, even at night, but she didn't know how far in each direction they went on.

In the end, the temptation of potentially beating them to the cemetery and avoiding a few miles of running was too great. She had spent plenty of nights in the woods before, and had never gotten lost.

Sprinting across the road, Liv looked in both directions. It was nearly two in the morning and no one was in sight. The edge of the forest was thick and she had to carefully pick her way through the branches and brush. Once she was in though, she found the ground to be mostly clear, aside from broken branches and a thick carpet of leaves. She glanced back at the motel, and turned herself in what she determined to be the best direction. Aside from the neon sign of the motel, the only light was from the moon, which allowed very little visibility. She let out a determined sigh and started into the woods, further away from the road.

After fifteen minutes, Liv was seriously regretting her decision to go through the woods. She could barely see, her fingers were freezing, and she was starting to wonder if she had gone the wrong way. She dropped onto a fallen tree and groaned. All she wanted was to prove that she could take care of herself and, instead, she'd gotten herself lost in the smallest forest in Oklahoma. And, on top of that, Dean would probably be the one to save her, again.

"Alright, Liv," she said to herself, sternly. "Get your shit together. You can get out of here. You can."

She jumped up and scanned the area. She knew which direction she'd come from and she was sure she hadn't veered off course. That meant she just had to keep going; she might have been wrong about how far away the cemetery was, but she knew she was right about the direction.

Liv set her jaw, nodded, and kept going. Another few minutes passed and she realized her vision had greatly improved. She could see because the trees had grown more dispersed. She looked up, and thought she saw the edge of the forest. Liv hurried faster, willing the leaves beneath her sneakers to crunch more quietly. She had almost reached the edge of the woods when she tripped and found herself face down on the forest floor. She raised her head, spitting out a few leaves, and realized she hand landed just inches from cracking her head on a small stump.

Sitting up, she took stock of her limbs and realized that, while sore, she was basically uninjured. She looked down at what had tripped her, expecting to find another stump or fallen branch. Instead, she saw a small, ancient tombstone. She had found the cemetery by literally tripping over it.

Liv jumped up and scurried toward the band of brush that separated the woods from the empty field on the other side. She passed a few more grave stones; it appeared that an older part of the cemetery had been grown over by trees and bushes, and no one had bothered to clear it out. The field she broke through the brush into was also part of the cemetery, a part that hadn't yet been used. Further down, to her right, she could make out rows and rows of stones. Some of them were simple and low to the ground; others were huge and elaborate, towering over the rest. Even further, she could see the Jeep, but Sam and Dean were nowhere in sight.

Keeping to the tree line, Liv ran toward the car. The two front doors were hanging open, as was the rear hatch. The dome light was on and, as she approached, she saw feet, then legs, then a torso. It was Sam, sprawled out on the ground. Liv crouched down beside him. His forehead was bleeding and he was unconscious but, when she placed a hand on his chest, she could feel it rise and fall. He was alive but the gash on his head was ugly and huge. Liv grabbed her knife and cut away a strip of fabric from the bottom of his t-shirt. She wrapped it around his forehead, trying to staunch the flow of blood.

"Sam!" she whispered, urgently. "Sam, where's Dean?!"

He didn't even flinch but she heard a faint shout from the other side of the graveyard. Liv whirled her head around, searching for the source of the sound, but there was nothing and no one.

"Sam, wake up!" she pleaded, shaking him. It was no use; he was completely out.

Liv didn't want to leave him but Dean was out there, and he might need help.

"Okay, Sammy, just stay here. I'll be back," she said, knowing he couldn't hear her. She tied the scrap of cloth around his forehead, hoping it would hold, and jumped up.

"Dean?" Liv called, as she ran in the direction she thought the sound had come from. "Dean, where are you?!"

She definitely heard it, again. She couldn't tell if it was Dean, but it was a man, hollering. It sounded far away, but somehow, impossibly right beside her. She ran in a circle, and pulled her gun out from the back of her pants.

The sound came again, and this time, it _was_ right below her, she was sure of it. And it was definitely Dean.

"Dean!" Liv shrieked, falling to her knees. The grass was damp and cold. "Dean, are you down there?"

He kept shouting, but she couldn't make out the words. Her name, maybe… something about a pole… no, a hole. There was a hole!

Liv scrambled to her feet and searched the ground. All she could see were the tombstones, dozens of them. The graves were close together and none of them were fresh. She started running through them, searching for anything out of the ordinary.

She found it two rows over. One of the graves, one of the older ones with a large stone, was disturbed. The fissure in the ground was on the back, where most people wouldn't find it. It was small, but not too small for a person to squeeze through. Liv looked back at the Jeep, where Sam still lay, unconscious.

"I'm coming, Dean…" she whispered, and returned the gun to her waistband before lowering herself to the ground. She let her legs dangle, wishing she'd remembered a flashlight, and dropped.

The fall seemed to go on forever but, when she looked up, the hole was only eight or ten feet above her. She landed on her side but, by some miracle, wasn't seriously injured. The soreness from her previous fall was heightened and it took her a few seconds to catch her breath but she was able to stand, a bit wobbly, without much trouble. She grabbed her gun and held it out in front of her, using both hands. She heard movement, something scurrying behind her, and she flicked off the safety.

"Dean?" she whispered. Dust and dirt fell from the edges of the hole and landed on the top of her head. She could see that the cavern was small and round and it smelled absolutely horrifying; there was a single tunnel in front of her and it was pitch black. She didn't want to leave the relative light of the cavern, where at least a bit of moonlight was able to illuminate the area around her, but she had to find Dean.

She looked up, one last time, and groaned. She had no choice. Still holding the gun out, she started down the tunnel. Within seconds, she could see absolutely nothing.

The tunnel curved and she nearly smacked into the earthen wall. She held the gun down at her side and reached out to hold onto the side of the tunnel. The soil was damp and cold and she felt creepy, crawly critters scurry across her hand with each step she took. Liv pursed her lips together and continued, whispering for Dean every few seconds. Twice, her hand happened upon some unknown object, possibly a long slab of wood. A third time, she gripped what could only be a human skull, wedged into the earth. Liv recoiled, remembering that she was walking amongst a field of corpses. Of course, there would be bodies. Her fingers shook as she reached out for the wall and she cringed, but she kept on. She had to find him.

"Dean!" she whispered, again.

Finally he answered.

"Liv? Is that you?" he said. She nearly fired her gun, she was so startled by his voice in the darkness.

"Dean! It's me; where are you?" she said.

She stepped away from the wall and slid her feet along the floor as she veered off toward the sound of his voice.

"I'm here," he said, quietly. "Follow my voice."

The soil beneath her feet was moist and mingled with small rocks and pebbles. Liv's feet slid several times but, after a few minutes of sweeping her free hand around, she happened upon him. She felt his heavy denim shirt and grasped it tightly in her fingers.

"Oh, my god, are you okay?" she asked. She reached up and touched his face, which was warm and moist with perspiration.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Bastard hit me pretty hard but I'm alright. My hands are tied; there's a post behind me or something."

Liv reached behind him and found his hands, bound together just above his waist.

"I can't fucking see anything," she groaned, and tugged on the bindings. "And it smells horrible down here!"

"Hang on, hang on, get my phone. It's in my front pocket," Dean said. "And hurry!"

Liv reached into his pocket and pulled out the phone. The hovel was bathed in weak, blue light when she flipped it open and held it up. Dean had a fresh bruise just below his left eye, but he looked alright otherwise. She leaned up and forward to kiss him, hurriedly, before surveying the area.

Unfortunately, the light revealed more than just his handsome face. On the ground, several yards to Liv's left, was the body of the missing cheerleader. It looked like something had been regularly feeding on it.

"Oh, shit!" Liv hissed. She looked away, horrified.

"Look at me, baby," he said. "Just look at me. I need you to help me so we can get out of here, okay?" She looked up at him, into his eyes, and he smiled, reassuringly.

"Okay," she said. "I'll cut you free." She pulled away from him and crouched down. When she reached for her knife, though, her hand came away empty and she cursed. She'd left it beside Sam when she cut away his shirt to use as a bandage.

"What's wrong?" he hissed.

"My knife; it's up by the Jeep," she groaned.

Dean shook his head. "It's okay; just try to untie it."

The bindings were tight but not too intricate. Liv worked at them for a few minutes and they had loosened considerably when Dean stiffened above her. She heard whispery footsteps behind her. Liv released the rope and stood, slowly. When she turned around, she saw them.

It _wasn't_ a ghoul; it was _three_ of them, and one of them was enormous, even larger than Sam. They were ghostly white, humanoid, with tufts of pale, grey hair, and wide, silvery eyes that appeared to be without pupils. They didn't wear any clothes and Liv could see that the largest of the three was male; the other two had flat, drooping breasts and she assumed they were female.

They advanced on her but then, inexplicably, they hesitated. The three ghouls sniffed the air and their heads tilted to the side as they scrutinized her. In that brief moment of their indecision, Liv dropped the phone and grabbed her gun.

The largest, the male, made a strange, grunting noise. Liv realized it was speaking when the other two responded, making similar sounds from deep in their throats. A second later, both of the smaller ghouls started toward her.

Liv fired once, at the smallest female, and hit it in the shoulder. It fell backward and let out a long, sharp keen that echoed in the tiny cavern. The second female lunged for Liv and the male darted forward as well.

The light from the phone was almost useless, once it landed on the ground. Liv saw the female ghoul rush toward her and raised her gun but the monster was too fast. The revolver was knocked from Liv's hands and she was pushed backward, into the wall of the cave. The soil was soft, though, and when Liv's head smacked into it, she barely felt any pain. A second later, the two of them tumbled to the ground.

The ghoul landed on top of her and grasped her shoulders, holding them down with its sharp, talon-like claws. It fought to lower its head, baring rows of sharp, grimy teeth. Liv pushed upward, her legs swinging wildly as she struggled to force the monster's mouth away from her throat. It was so strong, though. Finally, Liv relaxed and leaned her head back. When the ghoul came down again, Liv thrust her head up, slamming it into the thing's chin.

The monster screeched and, through the dimness, Liv saw streams of dark, viscous blood pour out of its open mouth and the two, narrow fissures that served as its nostrils.

Liv scanned the room and saw that Dean had been able to free himself from the loosened ropes and was grappling with the largest ghoul, the male. She jumped up and started toward him but the female that she'd just escaped latched onto one of her feet. Liv turned and kicked with her free foot, where it brutally connected with the ghoul's neck and shoulder. She felt, as well as heard, something snap, probably the creature's collarbone, and it fell back again, screeching.

"Liv, get your gun!" Dean shouted. He was fighting tenaciously but the monster was just too big, and too strong.

Liv whipped around, scanning the ground for her dropped revolver. She found it, just below the jutting wedge of wood that Dean had been bound to. She recognized the wood as the corner of an old, pine coffin.

Holding up the gun, Liv struggled to aim, accurately. Her hands trembled and Dean and the ghoul fought frantically, constantly shifting one direction and then another. The cavern was so dark, she could barely see. She choked back a sob, terrified of hitting Dean, unintentionally.

Liv took a deep breath and, remembering the tips Dean had shown her, let it out slowly. When there was no air left in her lungs, her hands grew still and time seemed to slow down. For a millisecond, Dean and the ghoul froze and she was able to center her sights on the creature's forehead. She pulled the trigger and watched the ghoul's head snap backward, a giant crater blossoming just between its eyes. When it fell to the floor, Liv allowed herself another breath.

"Behind you!" Dean shouted. Liv whirled around and saw both of the females advancing on her. Without even flinching, she took them down with two machine-like shots, one right after the other. The ghouls dropped in untidy heaps. Neither of them moved, again.

Liv cast away her gun and ran toward Dean, who pulled her into his arms. She burst into tears, while he struggled to soothe her.

"You did awesome," he said, encouragingly. "You did everything right, baby. Don't cry."

Liv shook her head. "I forgot my knife. You were right, I'm not ready. I'm not cut out for this," she rambled.

Dean grabbed her shoulders and held her a few inches away from him. He looked down at her, sternly. "No, I was wrong. You _are_ ready; I just didn't want to admit it."

Liv saw truth in his eyes and was bolstered by the determination of his tone. She nodded slowly, and looked down at the small army of corpses littering the ground around them.

From the tunnel, Liv heard more footsteps, but they were heavier and duller than those of the ghouls. A second later, a narrow beam of light swept the tunnel, closely followed by Sam. He ran into the cave, carrying a flashlight in one hand and his gun in the other. The bandage was gone from his forehead, but the bleeding had stopped.

"Liv!" he shouted.

The light briefly blinded her and she held up one hand to shield her eyes.

"Jesus, Sam, are you trying to blind us both?" Dean demanded.

"Dean!" Sam said. "You're okay!"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, I'm okay. Liv saved me."

Sam swept the ground with the flashlight. His eyes widened as he took in the grisly scene.

"Did she… did she do all this?" he asked, astonished.

Dean nodded, again; a grin spread across his face. "You're damn right she did," he said, proudly.


	31. Chapter 31

**Thank you to my new followers and new reviews! You guys are awesome!**

 **Reviews are always, always welcome and appreciated - good or bad! I consider everything you guys say and appreciate criticism just as much as compliments!**

 **This chapter was originally going to be much longer, but I split it into two. It was just going on and on forever and I really wanted to get something posted! I apologize for any grammatical errors or typos - I will be reviewing this in the morning and correcting anything I find. If you see something, please please leave a comment letting me know so I can fix it! I don't have an "editor" and it's easy to miss things on my own. :)**

 **Thanks, again!**

* * *

"So, this is vampire blood?" Liv asked, holding up the phial and eyeing it skeptically. Unable to assist with their current tasks, she was lounging on the couch with her feet in Dean's lap.

"Grade A, 100% alpha vamp juice," Dean answered, without looking up from Kevin's notepad. The prophet was still with the angels, presumably locked away in their deepest, darkest dungeon, or at least somewhere he could be kept safe. Liv knew how much it bothered Dean that they hadn't been able to keep the poor kid with them but what choice did they have? The only way to save him, and everyone else, was to stay focused on preparing the weapon that could ultimately vanquish Roman and his damned posse.

Liv swished the thick, red liquid around, watching it splash up the side of the glass. It didn't look special; it looked like it could have come from any living thing.

"Hey, be careful with that!" Sam said, glancing over at her. He was huddled over his laptop, typing relentlessly. He was planning his and Dean's upcoming outing and had been for the previous hour.

Liv scowled. "What would happen if I drank it?" she asked.

Dean finally looked up from the wrinkled papers and snatched the blood from her hands. He dropped it on the coffee table, next to another vial that Liv knew held Castiel's blood. She remembered the night Cas had given it to them; Dean had found a blank label and scribbled the words 'angel dust' across it, before affixing it to the glass. He thought it was hilarious, of course. Liv and Sam thought it was stupid. Cas, who was still nuttier than a fruitcake, didn't understand at all.

"You'd turn, dumbass," he said, with a sour expression. She forgave his touchiness, knowing how much pressure had been dumped onto his shoulders.

Sam looked up, smirking. "I think she has to be bitten, first. That's how it worked when you turned."

Liv perked up, immediately. "You were a vampire?" she asked, incredulously.

Dean nodded and turned back to the notepad. "Briefly. Back when Sam didn't have a soul."

Liv's eyebrows jolted upward even higher. "Sam didn't have a soul and you were a vampire. Thank God I didn't know you back then."

"Yeah, really," Dean murmured.

"Especially since he was still with Lisa," Sam said, snickering. He shut up, immediately, when Dean looked up and cast an ominous glare in his direction.

Liv shrugged. She knew about Lisa, knew that Dean had been in love with the woman. She'd even seen pictures and had to admit that Lisa was beautiful. It was the past, though. She didn't dwell on it, but Dean still looked uncomfortable anytime the name came up.

"Do you guys think Charlie'll be okay?" Liv asked, changing the subject.

"She'll be fine, if she keeps her head down until this is all over," Sam said. He leaned back in his chair and stretched his long arms above his head and back.

"What if we can't stop the leviathan?" Liv asked. She had been worrying about the girl since they put her on a train, destination anywhere far, far away. Dick Roman knew who she was, what she looked like. It was dangerous for Charlie, but she'd insisted on getting as far away from Sam and Dean as possible.

It seemed that the longer the fight went on, the more people were irreversibly involved and ended up in grave danger. Frank, whom they could only assume was dead, Kevin Tran and his poor, dead girlfriend, Channing, Charlie… The list kept growing, adding to Liv's already overwhelming inventory of things to be concerned about, not to mention Sam and Dean, who she was having trouble believing could both come out, unscarred.

"Then it doesn't matter, anyway," Dean said, conclusively.

"I guess…" Liv said, frowning.

"Hey," Dean said, in a kinder tone. "We can do this; we've dealt with bigger, badder monsters than Dick Roman, before." He dropped the notepad and rested his hands on her bare feet, massaging them, gently.

Liv forced a strained smile and leaned back on the couch. She wished there was more for her to do, but Dean wouldn't hear of it. She'd saved him from the ghouls barely three weeks before, but it felt like ancient history. He didn't let her help them track down the alpha vampire, he refused to let her get anywhere near Roman Enterprises, and he was adamant that she'd stay behind, safely hidden in the cabin, while it all went down when they finally had their weapon.

And she never got to say goodbye to Bobby. He, and the flask, were gone and they had no way of tracking him.

"You just about ready?" Sam asked. He closed the laptop and stood, stretching again.

"Yep," Dean answered. "You find everything we need?"

Sam nodded and shrugged into his coat.

"This is an awful idea, guys," Liv said, for the fifth time.

Dean shook his head. "Maybe, but we don't have a lot of options. Where else are we gonna find a 'righteous bone'?"

Liv shrugged. "I don't know, but do you really thinking swiping a dead nun's femur is the best plan?"

Dean slipped into his denim jacket and leaned down to kiss her. "She ain't using it," he said, grinning.

The two men headed out the door, Sam waving amicably.

"Okay, I'll just hang out here, then!" Liv called after them. "I'll just sit around here, on my ass, and do nothing. You have fun! I'll be here, forever!" Neither of them responded, not that she'd expected them to.

Sighing dramatically, Liv picked up the notepad Dean was studying and squinted at the tiny scrawl. It was Kevin's handwriting, and she couldn't make it out any easier than the bizarre symbols he'd transferred from the tablet. She huffed out another exasperated breath and flung the papers onto the table, beside the vials of blood.

She had just decided on a late-night snack, and was struggling to open a fresh jar of pickles, when a knock at the door briefly stopped her heart. She dropped the jar, which shattered in a flood of broken glass and pickle juice at her feet.

"Shit," she hissed, looking up from the mess to check the clock. It was past two in the morning.

When she didn't answer, another knock came.

"Who is it?" Liv called through the door.

"Olivia, darling, won't you please open the door," a demure voice answered. Crowley.

Liv tiptoed past the jumble of glass and pickles, taking care not to step on any of the fragments with her bare feet, and hurried toward the door. She tugged it open and glared out into the darkness. The demon greeted her with a friendly smile.

"I've just seen your boyfriend and his overgrown sidekick head out and I thought it might be a good time for us to have a little chat, what d'you say?" he said, cocking his head.

"You're gonna get me into trouble, again," Liv said, pointing her finger at him accusingly.

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Oh, Olivia, you are a grown woman. You're allowed to have innocent conversations with whomever you so choose."

"Oh yeah?" Liv said, sarcastically. "What if I don't _choose_ to converse with you?"

Crowley's smile broke into a wide grin. "Well, then, I'll leave you to it and promise not to return. Would that please you, love?"

Liv sighed and crossed her arms over her chest.

"What do you want? Are you here to drop of the blood you promised?" she demanded.

All traces of his smile disappeared. "You promised you would consider my offer. I've given you ample time to make a choice. I've come to hear your decision."

Liv could hardly believe it. They were counting on his blood to defeat Dick Roman, and he was still on her case about going to live with him and his family of demons.

Liv shook her head. "This is getting ridiculous. I'm not going to leave Dean to come and live with you, and I still don't know why you'd even want me to."

Crowley's demeanor darkened. "Don't be foolish, girl. My interest in you is purely professional. If you think my proposition in any way involves some sort of personal desire for you, on my part, you're sorely mistaken."

"Then why?" Liv implored. "Why do you keep asking me this? I don't understand what you want from me!" She threw up her hands, savagely.

He was silent for several seconds, staring at her with the same shadowy expression. "I can't tell you," he finally answered, clearly taking care with each word. "I will gift my blood to the Winchesters, in the hopes that they can use it to destroy that absolute dildo, Dick Roman, but I cannot guarantee everything will go as planned. His kind are tricky, and extremely dangerous. I'd like to think Moose and Squirrel will be able to come out of this, unscathed, but I'm not willing to bet on it. I can only say that it has to be your choice, your decision, and that, no matter what happens, I can keep you safe."

Liv was furious. "Fine," she said, glaring. "Don't tell me. But my answer is still no."

Crowley nodded. "Olivia, I must stress to you that this is your final chance to reconsider. I won't be returning and I'll consider my offer officially expired the instant I leave this place."

She only nodded and glowered at him. She had no more words, and nothing would accurately express her irritation.

"Have it your way, then," he said, and was gone. For the first time, she sensed a hint of disappointment, maybe even anger, in his countenance, but he had disappeared before she could be sure.

Liv stormed back into the kitchen, slamming the door behind her. In her anger and frustration, she forgot the broken jar and cursed when a jagged fragment of glass exploded through the sole of her foot. Dropping to the floor, she raised her foot to inspect the wound; the shard of glass wasn't enormous, but it was lodged fairly deeply into her flesh.

"Shit shit shit," she hissed through clenched teeth. To her utter dismay, tears sprang to her eyes. She scooted away from the pickle mess, until her back hit the refrigerator. Tentatively, she lowered her leg to the ground, stretching it out before her, and let the tears come, tears that had very little to do with her physical would and everything to do with her fears and anxieties.

* * *

The next afternoon, when Sam and Dean returned with their splintered section of bone, she had cleaned up the mess and bandaged her foot as best she could. She was afraid it might need stitches and, when she pulled off the bundle of gauze, Sam agreed.

"You cut your foot eating pickles?" Dean asked, his eyebrows cocked.

"No, idiot, I cut my foot on the jar that I dropped," Liv said, wincing as Sam handled her foot. He had pulled out his makeshift first aid kit, complete with needles and black thread, and was preparing to stitch up the gash.

Dean tugged open the refrigerator door and peered inside. "Where are the pickles?" he demanded.

Liv sighed. "I had to throw them away. They were all over the floor!"

"You threw away an entire jar of perfectly good pickles?" Dean asked, in disbelief.

"Dean, they were on the floor! It's disgusting! Have you seen the - ow!" Liv shrieked and nearly jerked her foot out of Sam's grasp.

"Sorry," he whispered, sympathetically. "Just a few more."

Liv nodded, pursing her lips. "I might as well tell you Crowley came back."

"Did he bring the blood?" Sam asked.

Liv shook her head. "No, he just asked for my final decision."

"Was he pissed?" Dean asked. He pulled a can of beer out of the fridge and settled onto the couch beside her. Reaching over, he latched his fingers through hers.

"I don't know. He wasn't thrilled." She shrugged and struggled to keep her foot from trembling. Her fingers tightly gripped Dean's. Finally, after five stitches, Sam applied a fresh bandage to her foot and released her.

"It's too bad he didn't leave the blood," Sam said. "Would have saved us the hassle of summoning him."

"You're going to summon him now?" Liv asked. "Here?"

Dean nodded. "It's time," he said. "We're hitting SucroCorp tonight."

"What?" Liv shouted. "So soon? Are you sure you're ready?"

"No, but we don't have a choice," Dean said. He took a drink of his beer before jumping up to help Sam with the summoning.

Liv chewed on her lower lip as they arranged everything in the large, wooden bowl. She wrinkled her nose and sighed. "Maybe I should leave?" she suggested, just as Dean dropped a burning match into the bowl.

Neither of them answered her.

"Is he trying to make a grand entrance or…?" Dean asked, his eyes wide.

"I don't know," Sam said.

"Shouldn't he be here by now?" Liv asked, searching the room for any sign of the demon. He was nowhere in sight.

"Son of a bitch," Dean growled. "He's standing us up."

"Can he even do that?" Liv asked, furrowing her eyebrows.

"Well, we summoned him," Sam said. "Doesn't he kind of have to…"

Dean interrupted him. "If Crowley wants to screw you, he'll screw you."

"Or he can't come cause something went wrong," Sam offered.

"Maybe," Dean said.

Liv was still wondering what could have gone wrong when a knock on the door echoed through the room.

"Is that him" Liv asked. She jumped up from the couch and limped toward Dean, who was standing by the window.

Sam pulled out his gun and peeked through a peephole in the door.

"Maybe it's good news," Dean said.

It wasn't. As soon as Sam pulled open the door, Meg stormed in.

"You deal with him," she ordered. "I can't anymore."

Liv eye the woman, suspiciously. Meg still rubbed her the wrong way, for some unknown reason. All she knew of the demon was from what Sam and Dean had told her, and while none of it was exactly honorable, Meg had helped them with Cas. Still, Liv didn't trust her.

"You might want to be more specific," Dean said.

Meg's eyebrows perked up. "I was laying low, halfway across the world, when emo boy pops up out of nowhere and zaps me right back here."

"Emo boy?" Liv asked. "Do you mean Cas?"

Meg smirked at her. "You sure catch on quick, don't you, Juliet?"

Dean stepped between the two women and turned to Meg. "Why?" he asked.

"Go ask him," Meg said, gesturing toward the door. "He was your boyfriend first."

* * *

It took Dean a good ten minutes to get the angel inside the cabin. While they talked, in the driveway, Meg kept her gaze trained unrelentingly on Liv. Sam leaned back on the table, watching the two women size each other up, and seemed to struggle with finding things to say.

"So…" he said, awkwardly. "How have you been, Meg?"

Meg smiled at him, without looking away from Liv. "Oh, I've been just fine, Sammy-boy. How about you?"

"I've been good," Sam said. "Much better, actually."

"Fantabulous," Meg drawled. "And you, sweet cheeks? Have you been enjoying your fleeting time with the nation's sexiest monster hunter?"

"Are you talking about Dean?" Liv asked. She was surprised by the direction the conversation had abruptly taken.

"Of course, I'm talking about Dean," Meg said, rolling her eyes. "No offense, Sammy, but you're just too cute to be a contender for that particular title."

"None taken," he said, bemused.

"Speaking of cute," Meg continued, turning back to Liv, "I just can't figure you out."

Liv couldn't gauge the demon's intentions. "What do you want to know?" she asked.

"What do I want to know? I want to know why Dean Winchester has fallen so adorably in love with someone who can only be described as a woeful nobody," Meg said. Her contemptuous smile all but vanished.

"Wow," Liv said, chuckling softly. It had instantly become crystal clear; Meg was jealous. "I don't know, Meg. I guess it was fate."

"There's no such thing as fate," Meg said, flatly. Before she could say anything else, Dean and Cas traipsed into through the front door.

"Hi, Cas," Liv said. She limped toward him with her arms extended.

Cas greeted her with a bright smile and warm hug. "Hello, Olivia. You have injured yourself," he said, gesturing toward her foot. "May I heal you?"

"Oh. Really? You can do that? Yes, please!" she said.

Cas placed two fingers on her forehead and briefly held them there. Liv felt warm pressure around the gash on her foot. An odd popping sensation followed as the stitches pulled free. When Cas removed his fingers from her skin, the wound was entirely healed, along with a paper cut on her right index finger, two damaged cuticles which she'd picked at until they bled, and a pulled muscle in her left hamstring from a particularly enthusiastic romp with Dean the night before. Liv unwrapped the bandage and dropped it into the garbage, along with the loose stitches.

"How do you feel?" Cas asked her.

"Awesome," she answered. "Thank you so much." She flexed her foot, rotating it at the ankle.

"I'm very pleased to have helped," Cas said. "I take such joy in helping others."

Dean sat on the couch and lifted Liv's foot, closely scrutinizing the flesh. Liv fought to keep her balance as he twisted her foot one direction and then the other. He nodded appreciatively and raised her foot even higher so that he could kiss the arch. Liv nearly fell over but he pulled her onto the couch, beside him.

Behind them, Meg let out a disgusted snort and folded her arms across her chest.

"Shut up, Meg," he ordered. "And Cas. Thanks." His voice was surly; Liv knew he wasn't quite ready to forgive the angel for the chaos he'd wrought on the earth, but it was a start.

"Cas, we have everything we need for the weapon," Sam said, pointing at the table where the bone and all two vials sat, like the world's most macabre prep table for a cooking show. "You ready?"

Cas shook his head, pensively. "Now, you understand I don't participate in aggressive activity," he said. He picked up the bone and considered it. "Hmm… Sister Mary Constant. Good choice."

"Why'd you go to Meg, Cas?" Dean asked.

"When I left, I wanted to observe the flowers - and fruit. Flowers come first, obviously. But I heard nothing from them."

Liv's mouth dropped open. She turned to Dean and shook her head. "What is he talking about?" she mouthed. Dean shrugged.

"You heard nothing from who?" Sam asked.

"The garrison."

"What happened to the garrison?" Sam prodded him.

"Well, finally, the silence was deafening, so I went to look… to the home of the Prophet. You know, leviathan can kill angels. There's a reason why Father locked them in purgatory. They're the piranha that would eat the whole aquarium. They're gone. The entire garrison - dead. If there's anyone left at all, they're in hiding," Cas said.

"Um… I'm sorry?" Dean said, dubiously. "If the angels are dead, where's Kevin?"

Cas looked away and mumbled to himself.

"Hey," Dean shouted, and clapped his hands. "Focus! Is Kevin alive?"

"I don't want to fight," was the angel's perplexing response.

"No, I'm not…" Dean sounded angry, nearing explosive rage, but he visibly calmed when Liv reached out and rested her hand on his shoulder. "We're worried," he said, in a much more docile tone.

"They took him," Cas said. "He's alive. I felt such responsibility, but it's in your hands now."

"Wait," Dean said, jumping up from the couch. "Hold on a freakin' minute."

"I feel much better," Cas said, with a compliant smile.

"Guys, what's all that?" Meg asked, suddenly. She pointed at the summoning supplies on the table.

"We called Crowley," Sam said.

"You what?" Meg demanded.

"Don't worry," Dean said. "He never showed."

Meg whirled around, searching the room. "What do you mean he never -."

"Do you see him anywhere?" Dean asked. "He stood us up."

Meg started toward the door. "Well, I'm sorry about that, but I'm outie. He could still show -." She was interrupted, again.

"Show up at any time," Crowley said. He had appeared just in front of the door and smiled at their surprised expressions. "Hello, boys. Olivia. Sorry I'm late. This _is_ an embarrassment of riches."

* * *

"Are you okay?" Liv asked him.

The sun had long since gone down, Crowley had returned to hell or wherever he came from, Sam had retired to his bedroom, and Meg and Cas were camped out in the living room, watching back to back episodes of I Love Lucy. Dean and Liv were in their bedroom and he looked more tired than she'd ever seen him, slouching forward on the edge of the bed with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

"I don't know," he said, simply. "If that kid dies, it's our fault. I don't know if we can do this without Cas. Crowley could be sending us into an ambush. I can think of a million things that could go wrong. Hell, I can think of a million things that probably _will_ go wrong."

"At least my foot's all better," she said, trying to make light of the situation. She knew she could tell him that, no matter what happened to Kevin or any of them, it wasn't his fault, that Cas would come around when they needed him, that Crowley was going to be Crowley, but none of it would help. Nothing she could say would make him see how much of a hero he really was, to her and everyone else.

"Yeah, at least there's that," he said, finally looking up.

Liv lifted her foot and rested it on his knee. "Yep. Not even a scar. Pretty cool, right?"

Dean stroked her ankle; his hand ran up the length of her calf to her knee. "I don't suppose he voodoo'd away any of your other scars?"

Liv frowned and shook her head. She lifted the hem of her shirt, revealing the cris-crossing jumble of marks that spelled out his name. "Nah," she said. "I already checked."

He reached forward and hooked his fingers into the belt loops of her worn, ragged jeans and pulled her close. His arms wrapped around her waist and he buried his face in her chest.

"Well, that sucks," he said, his voice muffled by her red, flannel shirt.

"I wouldn't have wanted him to," she said. She smiled down at him when he looked up, sharply.

"Why not?" he asked. His eyebrows furrowed together.

Liv shrugged. "Because, I love you. You saved me down there. I'm alive because of you. And I'd go through it all over again to be here with you."

Dean's hands slipped down the side of her torso to her thighs. Liv ran her fingers through his hair, messing up his already disorderly locks. He grasped the front of her shirt and tugged apart each button until it hung open. The scars were still distinct, white slashes on her skin. Her dandelion tattoo almost paralleled it, below her navel.

With one index finger, he traced the rough lines. Each letter was at least two inches wide. His name spanned the entire width of her torso, just below her breasts.

Liv shivered when he leaned forward and pressed his lips against the scars, following the pattern of his fingertip.

He raised his hands and pushed the shirt off of her shoulders. It fell to the floor behind her. His fingers slid down her shoulders and arms, then traveled around to her back. He was skilled, a master, really, and only needed one hand to unlatch her pale, pink bra. It was discarded at her feet, as well.

"You're going to SucraCorp tomorrow?" Liv asked, breathlessly.

Dean nodded. His lips brushed across the lower ridge of her breasts.

"Yeah," he answered. His voice was deeper than usual, husky with want.

Liv's fingers gripped the back of his shirt. Impatient with his perpetual layers, she grasped all of them at once and struggled to rip them up and away. They were briefly hung-up when his watch caught on the cuff of his denim shirt, but he popped the button off and tossed the entire heap onto the floor.

"So… this could potentially be our last night on earth?" she asked.

His lips had returned to her flesh with a heated urgency. His hands were restless, trailing up her back and down to her hips. Finally, they rested on the front of her jeans where he fought with the button and zipper. When he'd finally freed them, he forced the tight fabric down her thighs and past her knees to her ankles. She kicked them aside, thankful that she'd worn her sexy, black, lace panties, rather than the typical playful bikinis or boy shorts she generally chose.

"I guess you could say that," he answered. He was kissing across her lower stomach, following the line of her panties.

"Then I guess we'd better make the most of it," she gasped, as he hooked his fingers beneath the delicate fabric and ripped it away. She jerked forward, but he steadied her with his strong hands.

Suddenly, he was standing above her, towering over her. She reached down to unbutton his jeans and pushed them away, along with his boxers. He lifted her easily, her legs wrapping firmly around his waist. A second later, they were on the bed, her hair fanned out around her head. His mouth was everywhere; on her neck and throat, his shoulders and breasts.

The ancient bed creaked beneath them but she had only a second to feel mildly embarrassed, knowing everyone in the cabin would hear, before she was completely lost in his ardor.


	32. Chapter 32

"So, this is it? This is everything?" Liv asked.

The three of them stood by the table, staring down at the three assorted glass containers of blood, the nun's decrepit leg bone, and the paper with Kevin's instructions.

"This is it," Dean confirmed. "The whole shebang. Well, one thing's for sure; we only get one shot. This thing don't reload."

"You think Crowley's…" Sam began.

"Double-crossing us?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

"You've got to figure who he wants dead more - us or Dick," Dean said.

Liv picked up one of the vials, Crowley's, and inspected it. "I don't think he's lying," she said. She didn't know why, other than he'd told her. She trusted him, for some unknown reason.

"Why wouldn't he?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, but why _would_ he?" Liv said.

"Depends what Dick offered," Sam said. He picked up the two bottles of blood on the table and poured them into a bowl. Liv popped open Crowley's vial and dumped it in, as well. "Here we go," he said, picking up the bowl and holding it over another, larger stone bowl, which held the bone. "Okay, um… So do we…?"

"There's no magic words," Dean said. "Nothing. We just… just go."

"Alright, then," Sam said.

Liv watched him pour the entire contents of the first bowl onto the bone, letting the blood coat the entire length of it. She held her breath, waiting for… something. Nothing happened.

"Where's all the thunder and lightning?" Dean demanded.

"That was… anti-climactic," Liv added. She looked around the room, then down at the bone, again. It looked the same, just covered in blood.

"Uh…" Sam said, skeptically. "Maybe it worked?"

"Awesome," Dean said.

Castiel suddenly appeared behind them, carrying three plates of sandwiches. Liv jumped, and her heart nearly thumped out of her chest.

"Jesus!" she cried, breathlessly.

"No, I'm sorry, Olivia. Jesus hasn't been heard from in many centuries. Interestingly, his real name is actually Joshua." Cas grinned at her, and offered her a plate. "So, none of this should cause you any ill effect. I went to a little farm in Normandy for the wheat and the lettuce and tomato, and I thoroughly examined and comforted the pig before I slaughtered it for the ham. You need your strength," he said, passing another plate to Dean, who accepted it, wide-eyed.

"Thanks, Cas," Dean said.

Sam, on the other hand, ignored the proffered plate. "Cas, why was Crowley so certain that you need to come with us?" he asked.

"Crowley's wrong," Cas said, bluntly. "I'll be waiting right here. But please, accept this sandwich as a gesture of solidarity."

Sam finally accepted the plate and stared down at the food.

"Thanks, very much, Cas," Liv said. She carried her plate over to the couch and sat down. Hoping not to offend the angel, she surreptitiously picked off the tomatoes and deposited them on Dean's plate. He shoved them between his own slices of bread and took an enormous bite.

"This is excellent, Cas," he said, his mouth full to bursting.

Cas beamed proudly. "I hoped you would like it."

Liv took a small bite and nodded, appreciatively. She wasn't actually hungry, but it seemed rude not to at least try it.

"Yeah, thanks," Sam said. He didn't seem any more excited than Liv did.

"What is your plan?" Cas asked. "Have you decided on a course of action, now that your weapon is complete?"

Dean nodded. He opened his mouth to answer but clouds of crumbs flew out, landing on the floor.

"They're going to SucroCorp tonight," Liv said. "Are you sure there's nothing you can do to help?" The angel was delicate, fragile even, but she couldn't be cautious when Dean was heading into the belly of the beast that very night. If there was anything he could do to make their fight any easier, she fully expected him to come through.

"No, I'm afraid there's nothing," Cas said, but he looked away as he spoke and she wasn't sure that she believed him. "Will you be accompanying them?"

Dean shook his head. His plate clattered onto the coffee table, empty except for a few tomato seeds and a scrap of lettuce. "No, she's staying here. Was hoping you'd hang out with her, keep an eye on the place."

Cas nodded. "I can do that, certainly. I'm sure Meg will join us."

"We should actually get going," Sam said. "SucroCorp is a few hours drive and we wanna get there before midnight."

"Alright," Dean said. "Cas, I'm counting on you to keep her safe. Don't let anyone or anything touch her, understand?"

Castiel nodded. "I understand, Dean."

Sam hefted a large duffel bag over his shoulder. It normally held all of their weapons but, earlier in the day, he had filled it with several spray bottles of borax and only a fraction of the guns that they typically carried. On his way to the door, he stopped beside Liv and reached out to hug her with his free arm. Before he made contact, Cas stepped between them, his expression stern and unforgiving.

"I'm sorry, Sam, but I cannot allow you to touch her. I gave my word to Dean."

Dean, who was busy pulling on his dark, grey jacket, rolled his eyes and stomped toward them. "I didn't mean Sam, you walnut."

"My apologies," Cas said, stepping back to allow Sam to slip his arm round Liv's shoulders.

"Be careful, kid," Sam said.

"Me? I think I'll be okay. Me and Cas're gonna watch _Constantine_ and bond," Liv said. She smiled, trying not to panic.

"Alright, have fun," Sam said. He walked out the front door, his heavy footsteps pounding down the porch steps.

Dean watched him leave before turning to Liv, his arms outstretched. Again, Cas stepped in front of her, his jaw set.

"Dean, I'm afraid I can't -."

"Get the hell out of the way, Cas!" Dean shouted. The angel jumped away, nodding.

Liv stepped into Dean's arms and buried her face against his chest. _He'll be okay, he'll be fine_ , she repeated in her head, over and over, until he raised her chin to kiss her. She closed her eyes to the kiss, feeling his stubble graze over her skin.

"See you soon," he whispered, just b efore pulling away. She nodded, but didn't open her eyes until the door closed behind him.

* * *

Cas was obsessed _Constantine_. He said the depiction of Hell was surprisingly accurate, and he loved the protagonist's trench coat. The angels in the movie, Gabriel, Balthazar, and Lucifer, made him laugh until his eyes filled with tears. Liv was struggling not to break down in a full-fledged anxiety attack the entire time, but even she had to chuckle at Castiel's boisterous amusement. He enjoyed the film so much that he insisted they watch it again, the following afternoon.

"Shall I find us some popcorn?" he asked, as they were settling down on the couch. "I understand Mexico makes it with a wide variety of spices. Cumin, chili powder, coriander. I could be there and back in just a few moments."

Liv shook her head. "Nah, I'm good. You can push play, though."

Cas jumped up and hurried over to the DVD player. He was about to push play when heavy footsteps shook the entire cabin.

"It's them!" Liv shouted, jumping up from the couch and hurrying toward the door.

It was, indeed, Sam and Dean. They looked completely fine; she couldn't believe it.

As the door slammed shut, Meg stormed out of Sam's bedroom. She'd been hiding in there all night, doing God knew what and avoiding Liv like the plague. She'd groaned and grumbled through the initial viewing of the movie, eventually storming out while muttering about an ex-boyfriend who'd been turned into a winged demon and stalked her for over a century.

"Is it done? Is it all over?" Liv asked, hurling herself into Dean's arms.

"We didn't even get to see any leviathan," Sam said, scowling.

"What?" Cas said. "Why not? What happened?"

Dean shook his head. He looked tired; his stubble was longer and his clothes were wrinkled but, otherwise, he was entirely intact and looked no different than the day before.

"Bobby happened," he said. He pulled the flask out of his jacket pocket and tossed it onto the coffee table. Liv pulled away and turned to stare at it.

"Speaking of which…" Sam said, and pulled out his phone. He carried it into the kitchen and punched in a string of numbers. They all listened in as he spoke; it quickly became apparent that he was checking on the condition of a patient, a maid that they had dropped off sometime during the night.

Dean dropped onto the couch, pulling Liv with him, and stared at the flask. He was brooding, she could see it in his eyes.

"She's fine," Sam said, after hanging up the phone. "Checking out of the hospital tonight."

"Well, that's positive," Castiel said. He pulled a plate out of the refrigerator and offered it to Sam. It held another of his gourmet sandwiches.

"Tell me again why you turned tail for some maid," Meg said, her tone filled with snarky derision. "You were right there."

"Shut up, Meg," Dean said. Liv slipped a hand into one of his and gripped his fingers tightly to show her solidarity. She was also growing weary of Meg's perpetually negative attitude. Demons…

"Because Dick made more Dicks," Sam said. "He must have kept a chunk of the original Dick Roman somewhere. They'd all have to… touch it."

"Gross…" Liv said.

Cas flitted around the room, passing out more sandwiches and tidying up his and Liv's mess from their movie night. He scurried into the kitchen and started drying the dishes that had been resting in the dish drain. Liv had a niggling suspicion that he was avoiding them all.

"Hey, shifty," Dean said, addressing the angel. "What's your problem?"

"Do we need a cat?" Cas asked, abruptly. "Doesn't this place feel one species short?"

Liv wrinkled her nose. A cat? She knew he was cuckoo but that was a new level of crazy, even for him.

Dean scowled. "You got anything to say on the topic of Dicks?" he demanded. "Crowley was pretty sure that you could help."

"I can't help," Cas said. "You understand? I can't. I destroyed… everything. And I will destroy everything again. Can we please just leave it at that?"

"No," Dean said, rising up from the couch. "No, we can't."

"Dean…" Sam began, but was cut off.

"We can't leave it," Dean growled. "You let these friggin' things in. So, you don't get to make a sandwich. You don't get a damned cat. Nobody cares that you're broken, Cas. Clean up your mess!"

"Dean, come on…" Liv started, but silenced herself when he turned his impassioned glare on her.. He was right.

Cas replaced the plate he was holding and approached Dean, looking quite determined.

"You know…" Cas said, sternly. "We should play Twister." He vanished.

Dean glanced from Sam to Liv and then back to the empty column of space that had so recently contained the angel.

"Nice," Meg drawled. "You scared off the empire's only hope."

"Meaning?" Dean said, sharply.

"It occur to you every one of those things was in Cas? He knows them. He can see past the meat suits," Meg said.

"So he'll be able to spot the real… fake Dick Roman," Sam said, understanding dawning on his face.

"Gold star, sugarpants. Too bad he's fruit loops. You might've had a chance," Meg answered.

Liv shook her head. "He has to help. He doesn't have to fight but he has to at least help figure out which Dick is _the_ Dick."

"And how are you gonna get him to do that, little girl?" Meg said, turning her acidic sarcasm on Liv. "Gonna charm him with your feminine wiles? I don't think that's gonna work on this one, sweetie."

Liv crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back on the couch.

Dean turned to glower at the demon, but didn't comment. Instead, they were all silenced by Castiel's reappearance. He had set up the Twister board and was stretched across it.

"Come on, everyone!" he called out, cheerfully.

* * *

In the end, they all played but only because Sam thought their compliance might help persuade Cas to help with identifying Dick. Unfortunately he continued to refuse, or rather he continued to feign deafness each time the subject was brought up. Meg was surprisingly flexible; Dean was predictably stiff and ungainly. Liv did well but couldn't reach both sides of the board at the same time; she was too short. Sam could reach all four corners but could barely touch his toes; he was too tall. Cas seemed to have a good time, but their efforts were in vain.

Sam, Dean, and Liv were huddled around the laptop, watching the multiple Dick's wander around SucroCorp and searching for any way to differentiate between them, when Bobby suddenly appeared.

"Bobby!" Liv exclaimed. She started toward him, reaching for his arm, but her fingers slipped right through him. He flickered for a second before settling into place.

"Is that the best you can do? Idjits," Bobby accused, pointing toward the computer.

"Bobby," Sam said. "We didn't know if you'd…"

"Well, you should've," Bobby said, sharply. "You got the flask, dummie. You should've burned it right off."

"Bobby -," Dean began.

"I'm still jonesing to go back," Bobby interrupted him. "Grab some poor bastard, kamikaze 'em going after Dick. It's bad."

Dean snapped the computer closed when a news interview began to play, featuring Dick Roman.

"Let's be real," Bobby continued. "I damn near killed you. And that woman."

Sam shook his head. "It wasn't your fault, Bobby. Not really…"

"Right," Bobby said, snorting. "That's just what ghosts turn into. I really bet the farm I could outsmart that."

They were all silent for a moment.

"So, what's it feel like?" Dean finally said.

"What? Going vengeful?" Bobby said. "It's an itch you can't scratch out. Look… I'm done. Go get Dick. But don't do it cause you think it'll scratch the itch. Do it cause it's the job. And when it's your turn… go."

"Okay, Bobby," Dean said, solemnly. He picked up the flask and carried it to the kitchen table. Sam joined him in the kitchen and pulled out a huge, metal pot and a bag of flammable barbeque coals.

"Bobby…" Liv began. She didn't know where to begin, but she knew her time was almost up. "I'm so sorry I disappointed you."

Bobby smiled, sadly, and shook his head. "Livvie, that's all water under the bridge. I don't know what Crowley's up to, but I stopped being mad at you the night I got shot."

Liv eyes welled up with tears and she reached for him, again. Their fingers met, and his image flickered, but she felt nothing.

Behind her, Sam cleared his throat. "We're all set up," he said, gently.

"Come on, girl," Bobby said. "Let's get this done."

The four of them stood over the pan, where a pile of coals smoldered.

"Here's to… running into you guys on the other side," Bobby said. "Only… not too soon, alright?"

Liv stifled a sob and hooked an arm through one of Dean's. She rested her head against his bicep, and watched him toss the flask onto the coals. It began to smoke immediately, and after a few minutes, the metal started to melt. Beside them, Bobby's burst into a shower of flames, though Liv felt no heat coming off of him. Within seconds, he was gone.

* * *

"I'm coming with you," Liv said. Somehow, by some unknown miracle that he wasn't disclosing, Dean had managed to convince Cas to join him and Sam at SucroCorp. Liv was done saying goodbye, done waiting around. If they won, she wanted to be there to celebrate. If they lost… Well, she wanted to be there for that, as well.

"You're not," Dean said, conclusively.

"I absolutely am. Cas is going, Meg is going, Sam is going, and _I_ am going."

They were standing on the porch, glaring stubbornly at each other. In the driveway, Sam, Cas, and Meg waited from inside the Impala.

"Don't do this, Liv. I don't have time," Dean said. He started toward the car.

Liv stomped down the stairs and headed for the Impala, speeding up to get ahead of him.

"Let's vote, then," she said, playing the only card she had up her sleeve. "Since I'm not allowed to make my own decisions. All in favor of me staying at the cabin, doing nothing, raise your hand."

Dean didn't even move; he only glared at her. She could see his hands trembling, and realized that he was absolutely livid. No one else raised a hand, either.

"Okay," she went on. "All in favor of me coming along and kicking some leviathan ass?"

To her surprise, all three occupants of the car raised their hands.

"Sam!" Dean shouted, his eyes narrowed.

"Dean, I'm tired of this," Sam said, in a resigned voice. "She wants to come. She's an adult. You've been trying to shelter her all this time but, the truth is, if we fail, she's screwed, anyway. So, she might as well come along so we can all get screwed together."

Liv smiled at him triumphantly. Dean was still pissed, she could see surrender in his eyes. He had no choice. She crawled into the backseat, where Cas and Meg waited, and settled in. Cas was smushed between the two women, but he smiled merrily.

"Fine," Dean growled. "You do what I say, when I say it."

"Fine," Liv said, holding up her hands.

* * *

The ride to SucroCorp was long, but it went by quickly. They went over their plan at least a hundred times. When they finally reached the enormous office building, and stopped half a block away, Liv was forced to say what would potentially be her last goodbye, for the second time.

"You know what you're doing, right?" he said. They stood outside the Impala, their arms wrapped around each other. Liv was afraid that, when the moment came, she wouldn't be able to let go.

"I know," she said, gazing up at him.

"When Dick's dead, I'll come find you," he said, and lowered his head so that their lips met.

The kiss was short-lived; they were interrupted by Meg pounding on the roof of the car and revving the engine.

"Let's get this show on the road, bitches," she called.

Liv slipped into the passenger seat and buckled her seatbelt. Seconds later, Meg peeled out, onto the street. Liv turned back and waved as Sam, Dean, and Cas grew smaller and smaller. She had time to watch them start toward the building, running quickly, and then they disappeared behind a tall fence.

"You ready for this, sweetcheeks?" Meg asked. She stopped the car several yards outside the gates of the SucroCorp parking lot.

"I'm ready," Liv said. She crouched down in her seat, so that she would be completely hidden from anyone outside the vehicle.

"He said 3:25, right?" Meg said. They both glanced at the clock. It was 3:24.

"He did," Liv agreed.

"Well, then," Meg said, grinning. "Hold onto your tits!"

Meg slammed on the gas pedal. The car roared forward. She didn't slow down on the curves and the tires squealed each time she spun the wheel. Liv felt a tremendous crash as the car careened through the gates.

"Hang on, hang on, here it comes!" Meg cried.

Liv gripped the side of the car with one hand and the dashboard with the other. She was twisted down at an awkward angle, trying to keep out of sight without having to unbuckle her seatbelt. An instant later, the car smashed into the SucroCrop sign. Liv's head rapped against the hard dash and glass rained down around her.

"Hang tight, toots," Meg ordered her, as she gathered up a supplies and popped open the driver's side door. "I'll let you know when it's safe to come out."

She jumped out of the car, carrying a long, thin knife and a bottle of Power Clean.

Liv popped open the buckle of her seatbelt and slid to the floor. She heard gunshots, far too close for comfort, and ducked her head down even further. A man screamed in agony, also just outside the car.

"You're good!" Meg called. "You can come out."

Liv raised her head and peered out. Two men lay dead on the ground, their heads cleanly separated from their bodies. Instead of blood, their flesh was stained with thick, black goo.

"Later, ho nuggets," Meg said, smiling down at the decapitated leviathan. "You coming?"

"Yeah, yeah," Liv said. She gingerly made her way out of the car, taking care not to rest her hands on any shards of broken glass from the windshield or the company sign.

The two women headed around the side of the building. They had been instructed to get out of sight, once Meg dealt with the first of the leviathan. Dean had hoped they would draw attention, but be able to get away before the full force of Dick's army showed up to investigate. His plan went well, until the demons appeared.

The two men popped up in front of Meg and Liv. Their eyes were pure black. One of them raised an arm and Meg was flung away.

"The King of Hell will see you now," the demon said, with a cruel smile.

A second later, the demons, including Meg, were gone.

"Oh, shit…" Liv muttered. She sprinted toward the side door and prayed it would be unlocked, but was completely unsurprised when it wasn't. She scanned the side of the building and found an open window; astonishingly, it was on the first floor. Liv poked her head in and, seeing no one, crawled through the window. She tumbled to the floor, wincing as her back collided with the floor.

The office she'd intruded was nearly empty, aside from a single desk and chair. The door was open but she saw no one outside. Something was happening, though. She could hear shouting, alarms, doors opening and slamming shut. Liv tucked herself under the desk and allowed herself five minutes to think.

She had been told to hide somewhere, a closet or restroom, with Meg until it all went down. But Meg was gone and the office wasn't a great place to hide; the occupant was likely to return at any moment. Liv debated whether or not she should find somewhere else to hide, or if she should abandon the plan and search for Dean.

Eventually, she decided to keep moving. She snuck out of the office and scurried down the hallway, keeping close to the wall. When she reached a small lobby, where a group of about five men and women were gathered, she hung back to listen.

"I saw the Prophet and Sam Winchester headed for the lab," one of the women said.

"Should we follow?" a man asked.

His question seemed to rile them up; they all started shouting at the same time. Many were intent on following them to the lab but the woman shook her head, adamantly, and silenced them by raising her right hand.

"No," she said. "It's time to leave. The Winchesters are here, with an angel, and they have the Prophet. I say we cut out, while we still can."

Liv shook with impatience, cursing the group for their indecision. Finally, after what felt like an hour, the woman and her group left the lobby, making for the exit. It seemed that their loyalty to Dick Roman didn't extend beyond invasion of their headquarters by a few hunters and an angel.

Behind the receptionist's desk was a map of the building. Liv scanned it and eventually located the lab. She didn't know if she would find Dean there, but if Sam had indeed been headed in that direction, that was enough for her.

She tried to memorize the path to the lab, but she found herself lost more than once. She had to go down a flight of stairs and around several corners. The building was huge, and she had to stop to hide a dozen times as random individuals, human or leviathan, she couldn't be sure, bustled around. When she finally located her destination, Liv took a quick second to catch her breath.

The double doors leading into the laboratory were unlocked, thankfully. Liv shoved them open and stumbled into the room. She took in the globs of black goop that painted the walls and everything inside; she saw the bone fragment, on the ground, at the center of the ooze explosion. The lights were so bright; she held up her hand to shield her eyes from the fluorescence.

"Liv…"

She whirled around and saw Sam, standing behind one of the counters. Other than the two of them, the room was empty.

"Sam!" Liv ran to him and hugged him tightly. "Where's Dick?"

Sam sounded stunned, and confused. "Dead. Or… whatever. Dean got him."

"Oh, thank God!" Liv shouted. "I can't believe it's finally over."

"Liv…" Sam repeated, his voice flat and lifeless. Liv finally registered his tone and pulled back, her eyebrows furrowed together.

"What is it?" she asked. "What's wrong?"

"Liv, it's Dean…" he began.

Liv saw the pain in his eyes, the pure agony and horror.

"What?" she said, panic leaking into her voice. "Where is he? Sam, where is _Dean_?!"

Sam fell back against the wall. His fingers trembled and his gaze seemed to be locked on the ground.

"Liv… He's gone. Dean's gone," he said, and raised his shaking hands to cover his face.

"What do you mean, he's gone?" Liv shrieked. She whirled around the room, but there was nothing more to see. "Sam, what do you mean? Where is he?!"

But he didn't respond, and she understood that there was nothing else he could say.

Liv felt all of the strength leave her body. She dropped to the ground; her knees skidded on a puddle of thick, black fluid. The fluorescent lights flickered above her but, for Liv, there was only darkness.


	33. Chapter 33

For the first week, after Dean's disappearance, neither of them spoke, not even to each other. Sam was reminded of when Bobby died, when the three of them had moped around the cabin eating frozen pizza and working persistently. He remembered the pain of their loss, a pain they had all shared and eventually embraced, together. He remembered it, and longed for it. Because Dean being gone, or dead or whatever had happened, was worse. So much worse…

It was worse because, with Dean gone, there was no work to be done. The leviathan had been dealt with, Crowley had made sure of that. They were left with nothing to command their attention, not that either of them were in any shape to focus on anything for more than a few seconds at a time.

He remembered those moments, after Liv had finally grasped the significance of his words. He remembered them so well because it was the exact moment he understood, also. He had to say it; he had to hear the words leave his own mouth before he fully comprehended what they really meant.

"Dean's gone…" he had said and when she collapsed on the floor, he had wanted to join her. He wanted to curl up in a ball on the floor of that lab and shut out the chaos around him. But someone had to get them out. Someone had to fight through the horde of leviathan and, by default of being the only hunter left, that burden fell onto his shoulders.

She'd fought him. The blows of her fists had been light and frenzied but they had also been relentless. He had to carry her out of the lab, kicking and screaming like an angry toddler but, by the time they reached the lobby, she was calm. Too calm, he thought, but he was too busy dealing with his own overwhelming shock, along with the battle between the remaining leviathan and Crowley's demons.

The Impala was nearly destroyed but, by some miracle, he was able to drive it out of the parking lot and at least a mile from the SucroCorp building. It died, in the middle of a suburban neighborhood. Sam remembered pulling his phone from his jacket pocket and calling the first number he could think of. Of course, wherever Dean was, he didn't have cell phone service. The call rang and rang and rang until Sam had to give up. He had stared at the phone, wondering who to call and what to do next and coming up with literally no options. There was no one. Finally, after scrolling on his list of contacts and pondering how many of them were deceased, he called Jodi. She wired them money to repair the Impala and, the next day, they left for South Dakota. She was the last person he spoke to before losing himself in his fugue of confused grief.

For the first week, Sam and Liv wandered around the cabin like ghosts. They would pass in the hall and not even acknowledge each other. Liv cooked for them, or attempted to, but with little success. On at least three occasions, Sam had entered the kitchen, drawn by the scent of burning metal or melting plastic, only to find a pot or pan filled with some indeterminable substance that had been scorched into nothing or a bowl that had been left to rotate around inside the microwave until it was nothing but a mound of molten goo. It didn't matter, anyway; neither of them had any real desire to eat, or do anything else for that matter. He didn't scold her, or even speak of it. He couldn't bring himself to care.

For the first week, he never cried and, from what he could see, she didn't, either.

The second week was different and far, far worse, in its own way. He woke early one morning to a thunderous crash coming from the living room. When he jumped out of bed and ran to investigate, he found her standing above the television. It was lying on the floor, the screen shattered and sparking from within.

"What happened?" he had demanded, pointing at the television set. It was the first thing he'd said to her, since the lab in SucroCorp.

Liv had stood there, her eyes wide and her hands clenched into fists. She was so angry, so manic. He didn't know how to deal with such fury.

"Why didn't you save him?" she'd shrieked. "Why didn't you keep him safe?!"

He hadn't known how to respond. His mouth had opened and closed while he struggled to find the words, to tell her that he hadn't known _how_ to save Dean, how to keep him safe, but she hadn't waited. When she stormed past, her shoulder had collided with his arm, knocking him into the wall.

She spent two days destroying the room she had shared with Dean. Again, Sam didn't try to stop her. He was too busy dealing with his own anger. He was angry at so many people; he didn't know who to direct it at first. Crowley, for not warning them of the consequences of using the weapon; Cas, for disappearing along with Dean; Dick Roman, for refusing to be destroyed with dignity and being an altogether pain in the ass that had caused all of their problems in the first place; Liv, for her weakness and inability to control her emotions; himself, for letting Dean be the bearer of the weapon and for not being able to save him. He was angry at Dean, too. He just didn't know why.

She slammed around the cabin like a tornado, leaving destruction in her wake. Nothing was done quietly; every task was an act of homicidal rage. She attempted to make breakfast one day and managed to shatter four plates, snap the handle off of their one remaining frying pan, and hurl the toaster through one of the kitchen windows.

They fought, incessantly, over everything until Sam decided it was safer just to stay in his room.

The third week, which coincided with a visit from Jodi, was even more brutal. Sam thought it had something to do with Molly, who had never really liked Dean but still seemed to search for him in every room. Molly calmed her mistress, but brought out a devastating sadness in both of them.

The tears that had been lying dormant were finally released. Liv never stopped weeping; during the day, her eyes were always red rimmed and brimming with tears. At night, he could hear her sobbing from his own bedroom. He didn't comfort her. He couldn't.

It occurred to him that their grieving process was surprisingly parallel. Shock, anger, depression… They experienced them in tandem, but separately.

With Molly to alleviate her rollercoaster of emotions, Liv cleaned up her room, taking special care of Dean's belongings. She eventually moved to the rest of the cabin, first tidying the chaos she'd left behind and then deep-cleaning everything she could reach. She lit candles and cleaned out the refrigerator and kitchen cabinets. She squeegeed windows and washed curtains. She even emptied the crumb catcher beneath the toaster. She enlisted help from Sam in dusting the tops of the ceiling fans and carrying boxes of random knick knacks to the attic. By the time she was done, the place was in better shape than Sam had ever seen it and smelled like the inside of a Bath and Body Works store.

Maybe it was the new cleanliness of his living environment but the fourth week brought with it a tranquility that Sam hadn't expected to ever experience again. After a night of worry and internal debate, Sam had made an important decision regarding his life and what he wanted from it. Anxious to share his musings with Liv, his only friend left, he'd hurried out to the living room. She wasn't there. He tapped on her bedroom door and heard nothing in response. When he pushed open the door, he found the room empty. All of Dean's clothing still hung in the closet but Liv's possessions had been removed. He hurried to the front door and stepped outside. What he saw confirmed what he had already suspected - her Jeep was gone. _She_ was gone.

* * *

Early one evening, while the sun was still high but the air was beginning to cool, Sam sat on the porch with a mug of hot coffee spiked with a healthy portion of whiskey. He had just opened an old copy of Oliver Twist, a book he hadn't read since high school, when he heard a car approaching up the narrow road that led to the cabin's gravel driveway. He wasn't expecting company, he never expected company anymore, so he reached for the sawed off shotgun that he kept on the windowsill behind the porch swing.

When he saw the Jeep come around the bend, he dropped the gun on one of the old, wicker chairs beside him. A wide smile stretched across his face.

"Hey!" he shouted, hurrying down the steps to meet her.

"Hey, yourself!" Liv said, laughing. She barely opened her door before Molly came barreling out and launched herself at Sam, nearly knocking him over.

Sam bent down to greet the dog, letting her coat his face in sloppy kisses before standing. Molly sat at his feet, restlessly, and wagged her tail.

Liv slid out of the Jeep and reached for him. He wasn't prepared for the rush of familiarity and comfort that accompanied their embrace. She still smelled like cinnamon and lavender; her hair was still wild and unruly. He hadn't seen her in over a month, but she was just the same.

Sam wrapped an arm around her shoulder and guided her up the front stairs.

"Where the hell have you been?" he asked, when they were seated at the kitchen table with mugs of steaming coffee before them.

Liv shrugged and wrinkled her nose. "Everywhere, I guess," she said, taking a sip of her coffee and grimacing. Too late, he realized he'd forgotten the sugar. When he stood to grab the sugar bowl from the counter, she waved him back into his seat and collected it herself. She settled herself across from him and smiled, warmly.

"Everywhere?"

She nodded, twirling a spoon around her mug as she dumped in enough sugar to make Sam's molars twinge. "I went to see my mom and sister. Checked on my dad. He's out of the hospital, for now anyway."

"Hey, that's good news!" Sam said. He reached out and grasped her wrist, squeezing gently.

She shrugged, again. "No, it's not. They moved him to hospice. They kept saying he doesn't have much time left but he's tough; one of the nurses told me she doesn't know how he's still alive."

Sam frowned. He thought of the last time he'd seen Rick, and remembered how unwell the man had looked.

"I'm sorry," he said, sympathetically. He couldn't think of anything else to say.

Liv rested her other hand on top of his and nodded, appreciatively.

"It's alright. He wasn't mad at me anymore, but he still didn't want me to stay," she said. "Anyway, how are you? Have you even been out of the cabin?"

Sam laughed. He didn't think she meant just going to the grocery store.

"Nah, I've just been taking a break." He thought it might be more than a break, though. He hadn't been looking for cases, hadn't been scanning newspapers or the internet for weird and unusual stories. It was nice, not being responsible for anyone else. He had decided, weeks before, that he was putting hunting on the back burner, possibly forever, so he could focus on just surviving. He didn't blame Dean for it, not really, but he couldn't help feeling like it wasn't fair; he'd gotten his soul back just in time for the tidal wave of emotions that came with Dean's death. The last time he'd been without his brother, hunting hadn't been an issue; without a soul, it came naturally and he might have argued it made him a better hunter. But without Dean, he just didn't have the drive. He didn't have the desire. He thought his days of hunting had past.

Liv nodded..

"That's good," she said, softly. "You deserve a break." She looked at him as if she sensed there was more to it than a simple hiatus, but didn't comment further

Neither of them spoke for a few minutes. Sam reached down to scratch Molly's chin while Liv sipped at her coffee. He had more questions, things he thought he deserved to know, but he didn't want to interrogate her. Why had she left? Why had she blamed him? Wasn't it harder for her to be on her own? Because it had been harder for him.

"Are you hungry?" he finally asked. He'd been on the verge of asking why she left, without saying goodbye, but he couldn't bring himself to break the comfortable comradery. "I was just about to make something to eat."

Liv nodded, enthusiastically. "I'm starving," she said. "What can I do to help?"

Sam jumped up and hurried to the refrigerator. He pulled out a pair of rib-eye steaks and a pile of vegetables.

"You can make the salad," he said, grinning.

"Ugh," Liv responded, but didn't voice any additional complaints.

While Sam carried the steaks out to the porch, where he'd set up a small hibachi grill, Liv started dicing lettuce, carrots, peppers, and cucumbers. By the time she'd finished, and dropped the vegetables into a large mixing bowl, Sam had seared the steaks on both sides and brought them in.

"We haven't eaten since breakfast," Liv groaned. She leaned over the plate that Sam carried in from the grill and inhaled deeply.

Sam set the plate down on the counter and pulled open one of the kitchen cabinets. He found a large bag of dog food and poured a healthy portion into a bowl. Molly hurried over to him and buried her face in the bowl before he'd even gotten it to the floor, sending spatters of slobber all over the old laminate.

"I can see that," Sam said, chuckling. He filled another bowl with water and set it beside Molly's food.

After loading up their plates, the two of them ate on the porch. Liv settled onto the porch swing with her legs crossed while Sam sat across from her in one of the chairs. For several minutes, the only sounds were their chewing and the occasional burp. When they were finished, they dropped their plates onto the floor and sat in silence, staring out at the darkening woods.

"I miss him," Liv said, interrupting the cicadas that had been chirping persistently since the sun went down.

"Yeah," Sam said. "I miss him, too."

He moved from the chair to the porch swing beside her.

"Do you think he might be alive? Is there any chance at all?" she asked, quietly.

For a moment, he didn't know what to say. Could Dean be alive? No.

"I don't think so," he finally answered. He knew she wanted him to say yes, that anything was possible, but he just couldn't see it.

"But, where did they go? Him and Cas… Where are their… bodies?"

Sam shook his head. "I don't know, Liv. But, they weren't there. It was like a bomb. It was like… like they all exploded into nothing. Like a black hole swallowed them up."

Again, they were both silent for several minutes. Sam heard her sniff but saw no tears when he turned to face her.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Sorry for what?" he asked, but he knew what was coming.

"For blaming you. You couldn't have saved him. I know that. I knew that, even then. I just… I just needed to be mad at someone."

Sam nodded. The cicadas started up again and the stars winked into place above them, one by one. The air grew chilly as they sat, swinging slowly. After a few minutes, he felt the porch swing shuddering beneath him and realized that she was shivering.

"Hey, let's go in," he said and nudged her goosebumped arm before leaning down to gather up their dirty dishes.

Inside, Molly glanced at them from her spot on the couch where she'd been snoozing, but didn't get up. She had acclimated quickly to being back in the cabin.

"You're gonna end up with dog hair all over the place, again," Liv said, snickering. She turned on the kitchen faucet and started to fill the sink with hot, soapy water. Before she could get her hands wet, Sam shoved her away from the sink with a disapproving glare.

He shrugged and dropped the plates into the sink. "Never bothered me before," he said. "Does this mean you guys are hanging out for a few days?"

Liv leaned back on the counter and chewed at her bottom lip. "Only if it's okay with you. At least for tonight."

"Are you kidding me?" Sam said, and laughed. "Of course, it's okay. Stay as long as you want. It'll be nice to have the company." He was happy to hear that she wasn't planning on leaving right away. He'd missed having her around.

After rolling up his flannel shirt sleeves, Sam dug into the warm water and started scrubbing the plates harder than was really necessary. There weren't many dishes, and what there was didn't need much cleaning.

Liv hopped up on the counter, beside the sink, and crossed her legs before grabbing a dish towel. As Sam washed the plates and set them in the dish drain, she picked them up and dried them. Together, they finished all of the dishes within fifteen minutes.

Sam shook off the soap and water from his hands and leaned back against the counter, staring at the floor. He was glad she was there, that she'd come back, but he couldn't smother all of his resentment. He couldn't help feeling like she'd abandoned him. He didn't notice right away when she held out a hand towel.

"You okay?" Liv asked, tugging on his sleeve and pulling him out of his muddled contemplation.

He nodded, his lips pursed shut.

"I get that you wanted to see your family," he said, carefully. "I do but…"

"But why didn't I tell you?" Liv said, her eyebrows raised.

"Yeah. Why didn't you tell me?" He finally looked at her and crossed his arms over his chest.

Liv sighed and glanced around the room. With her eyes diverted, he felt more comfortable looking at her more closely. As he did, it occurred to him that she _wasn't_ the same; there were subtle changes in her appearance and demeanor. She was thinner, again; not malnourished as she'd been after they rescued her from the vampires, but much of her softness was gone. It wasn't just that, though. Her eyes were harder; her features more harsh and defined. She sat there, wearing the same cut off blue jeans and white blouse he'd seen her wear a million times before, but she was different.

"You know, I didn't want to go," she began, and finally looked up at him. "It was just so hard… It was hard being here, where he used to be. Sleeping in that bedroom every night, I'd wake up and reach for him but his side of the bed was always empty. It felt colder, the air and the atmosphere both felt arctic. I thought if I changed the place, made it look and smell different, it would be okay. But, it wasn't."

"Yeah, but what about me?" Sam interrupted. He hadn't meant for his tone to be so angry, but it came out as an accusation.

"It was hard being with you, too. It _is_ hard being with you," she answered, just as severely. "Every time I look at you, I see him. Your eyes, your voice, even your _scent_."

Sam was alarmed to see tears welling up in her eyes, and then spilling down her cheeks. She brushed them away, angrily, and let out a frustrated sigh.

"I'm sorry," he said, stepping closer to her. "I didn't mean to make you upset. I just…" He paused to raise a hand and gently wipe away an errant tear from her jaw with his thumb. "I needed you," he finally said. "I lost my brother, my best friend, and it broke me. And then… Then I lost you, too."

"I'm so sorry, Sam," Liv whispered. She reached up and took his hand in both of hers. "I didn't know what to do. I was looking for a way to make things okay, again."

Sam nodded and tried unsuccessfully to smile. He wasn't mad, anymore; he completely understood why she needed to find change. He would have done the same thing, if he'd had the motivation.

"Don't be sorry," he said, softly. "Just don't run out on me, again. I get it if you don't want to stay forever, but at least let me -."

But he never got to finish the sentence. He hadn't meant to kiss her; it was the farthest thing from his mind. In fact, looking back on it later, he was almost positive that he _hadn't_ kissed her; he would have bet the Impala that _she_ kissed _him_.

The kiss started gently, tenderly, but within seconds it had escalated into something urgent and primal. Their lips smashed together, tongues tangling frantically. He didn't know that her hands had released his and her arms had circled his neck until her fingers grasped large clumps of his hair and tugged his head back, or when his arms wrapped around her waist until they pulled her, almost violently, against him. He didn't realize that her legs had uncrossed and straddled his waist until he felt the pressure against his hips.

Sam gasped when she pulled his hair, forcing his head back. He felt her lips travel down the side of his jaw and neck. Her fingers released his locks and slipped around the front of his chest, where they fumbled with the buttons of his flannel shirt. When they were all free, she pushed the shirt over his shoulders. He slipped his arms out and dropped it on the ground. His white, v-neck t-shirt followed, soon after. She ran her hands up his chest and over his shoulders, but before she could embrace him, he swiftly pulled her blouse up and over her head.

He'd certainly seen her in her underclothes before but something had fundamentally changed. While he'd never really looked at her like a sister before, he had never been overcome with lust at the sight of her bare skin. He even recognized the bra she wore; it was light pink, sheer lace that left little to the imagination. But, in the heat of that moment, he realized for the first time how desperately he wanted her.

Sam lowered his mouth to her throat, trailing his tongue down to the upper border of the delicate lace. He felt her fingers travel down the front of his stomach, tickling his sensitive flesh, and begin to struggle with the button of his jeans. It popped open easily but, before she could continue with the zipper, he pulled away.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked. It was a question he didn't want to ask, if only because he didn't want to waste a single second, but he had to. His conscience wouldn't let him continue without confirmation.

"I'm sure," she answered, urgently.

It was all he needed. Sam slipped his hands beneath her bottom and lifted her up off of the counter. Her legs tightened around his waist as he carried her through the kitchen toward the hallway. They slammed into the wall and their lips met, again. A few seconds later, he continued toward the trio of bedrooms. Pausing outside the door to the bedroom Liv had shared with Dean, Sam nearly tripped over his jeans that had started to slip down his legs.

"Not here," Liv said, quickly.

Sam shifted her in his arms. It was hard to think, with her lips moving so wildly over his mouth and jaw, down to his neck, but he tried to consider their options. His bedroom, the smallest, held only a twin bed. The couch was small and hard and just felt like the wrong place to be.

Groaning, Sam slammed her back into the door of Bobby's room, one of the least used rooms in the cabin. He knew Liv had cleaned it, but he hadn't been inside since before SucroCorp.

"Here?" he asked. His lips brushed over her throat and she let out a quiet whimper. She paused for a second before nodding. Thankful that he still wore his heavy boots, Sam kicked the door open, completely destroying the door knob mechanism, and hastily carried her inside.


	34. Chapter 34

**Hello, friends! Thank you so much for the awesome reviews! And the new follows! I'm sorry for the delays between chapters; lots going on in life, right now.**

 **So things are kinda getting weird between Liv and Sam but all will be answered in this chapter! I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

It was early the following morning when she woke. The sun had just begun to stream in through the sheer, blue curtains in Bobby's old bedroom. Liv was sprawled out on her stomach, a pillow bunched up beneath her head, and her first thought was that the bed was warmer than she had grown accustomed to. She yawned and rolled onto her back, stretching out her arms. When her right hand collided with something firm and solid, smooth and satiny, she paused. As her fingers explored the unknown object, Sam let out a soft groan and shifted beside her. Memories of the night before immediately washed over her and she drew back her hand.

Slowly, trying carefully not to shake the old, squeaky bedframe, Liv sat up and surveyed the room. Clothing littered the floor in a messy trail from the door to the bed. Liv looked down, realized she was entirely nude, and wrapped the sheet around herself. As she did, it pulled off of Sam and revealed his long, tan, and also nude form. Thankfully, he didn't wake. Liv took in the sight of him and decided to leave the sheet.

She slipped out of the bed and tiptoed toward the door, abandoning all pretenses of modesty. Molly, who had been curled up on a discarded pillow on the floor, followed close behind. The two of them made their way down the hallway, pausing briefly at the door of the bedroom Liv had shared with Dean, and continued on to the kitchen. She filled both Molly's food and water bowls and debated starting a pot of coffee. A glance at the clock informed her it was nearly 5:30; far too early to be up, especially considering her robust activities the night before.

Instead of coffee, Liv settled for a glass of water from a bottle in the refrigerator. She remembered that Sam always kept a glass on his bedside table and carried it back to Bobby's bedroom.

He was still asleep, on his back, with the sheet pulled up to just below his navel. Liv stopped just inside the door and watched him for a few minutes. She leaned against the door frame, crossed her arms, and nibbled at her lower lip. She loved him; there was no question of that, but in what way? Was it wrong, what had happened? Would it be wrong to let it happen again? As she yawned again, Molly padded into the bedroom and jumped up onto the bed, settling at Sam's feet. The dog stared blankly up at Liv, as if judging her indecision. With a soft woof, Molly lowered her head to the mattress and lazily blinked her eyes. Liv shrugged and followed Molly's lead; she returned to the bed, sliding in between the sheets, and curled up beside Sam.

Within minutes, she had fallen asleep.

* * *

The next time she woke, it was to the smell of coffee brewing and bacon frying in the kitchen. The bed was empty, other than herself, but music filtered in from the living room. She didn't recognize the song, or the artist, but it sounded modern.

With nothing to wear, Liv wrapped the sheet around herself, like a toga, and walked down the hallway toward the kitchen. She could hear him, singing along to the unfamiliar music, along with the sounds of dishes and utensils clinking together. She heard an egg cracking, and then the sizzle as it dropped into a hot frying pan. When she rounded the last corner, she saw him standing in front of the stove. He hadn't bothered to dress either, other than a pair of tight boxer briefs. Understandably, she thought. It was at least 80 degrees, already.

"Hey," she said, quietly, and laughed when he jumped and whirled around, dropping the spatula he held in his right hand.

"Oh, hey!" he said, grinning. He bent down to grab the dropped utensil and dropped it into the sink as he hurried toward her.

Liv didn't know exactly what she expected, but it wasn't the warm, enveloping embrace of his long, strong arms wrapping around her waist and lifting her up to meet his deep, intense kiss. She also wasn't expecting to feel so peaceful and blissful and just overall _whole_ in his arms. She slipped her arms around his neck and tangled her fingers in his hair, pressing her lips eagerly against his.

"Ah, shit, the eggs!" He pulled away abruptly and set her on the ground before jumping back to the stove. He frowned at the pan and tilted it sideways. "I think they're more fried than over easy…"

"That's okay," Liv said. "I don't mind. Sometimes runny yolks make me wanna hurl."

"Appetizing," he said, smirking over at her. "Sit down." He gestured toward the table, where it had been set for two. It was covered with small platters of bacon, toast, a container of orange juice, and the coffee pot.

Liv settled into a chair, in front of one of the place settings, and poured herself a cup of coffee. Sam grabbed a new spatula and scooped the two eggs from the pan onto her plate.

"This looks amazing," Liv said, shoving a slice of bacon into her mouth. She broke off a small piece and offered it to Molly, who sat at her feet staring morosely up at them.

"Breakfast has always been my specialty," he said. He whipped two eggs in a small bowl and poured them into the frying pan. Liv had forgotten that he always ate his eggs scrambled, or else she'd never noticed before.

"How long have you been up?" she asked. The clock on the wall read 9:45, much later than she'd slept in longer than she could remember.

Sam shrugged and stirred the eggs with a fork. "Maybe half an hour. I haven't slept in this late in weeks. Hell, I haven't slept that well in… well, a while."

Liv nodded and turned back to her plate. She knew how he felt; she and sleep hadn't exactly been on close terms since SucroCorp.

With his eggs finished cooking, Sam plopped them onto his plate and dropped the frying pan in the sink. He said down at the other place setting, beside Liv, and poured glasses of juice for both of them.

It occurred to Liv that, in all the time she'd been with Dean, she could only remember a few occasions where they'd actually had breakfast together. He was always up so early, and so busy, that they didn't have time for such leisurely, pleasant meals. Dinners out were generally fast food or takeout, lunch was usually forgotten, and breakfast was whatever they could find, when they got hungry. He never cooked for her. No that he didn't know how, he insisted; just because there was no time.

"You'll have to let me make dinner tonight," Liv said when her plate was empty and Sam had started on the dishes. Of course, he refused to allow her to help so she sat in her chair while he worked, watching his back (and possibly a bit lower) as his muscles rippled and tightened. He was so damn tall; she couldn't get over how tall he was, and how broad his shoulders were.

He nodded, glancing at her over his shoulder. "Sure. I've got plenty of groceries but we can always run into town, if you want."

Liv noticed their shirts, neatly folded on one of the empty chairs, and grabbed his t-shirt. She slipped it on, pushing away the sheet, and propped her feet up on the table. Leaning back in her chair, with a fresh mug of coffee in both hands, she glanced around the kitchen and into the living room. It was still clean, as spotless as when she'd left, maybe even more. The windows and curtains were all open, something that had never happened when Dean was alive. But there was no breeze. They were nearing full summer and even the little cabin in the woods wouldn't be spared the brunt of the heat.

"It's friggin' hot," she complained. She set her mug on the table and tugged her hair into a ponytail, then tied it in a knot. It was loose, and messy, but it kept the sweaty strands from sitting on her neck.

"Yeah, it is," he answered and turned away from the sink, toward her. He laughed when he saw her, sprawled out in his shirt. "I don't think the electricity in this place could handle an AC, though. I have to reset the fuses at least twice a week as it is."

Liv chucked. "Yeah, I remember we could never use the microwave and the television at the same time."

He returned to his chair at the table and leaned back. Pulling her feet off of the table and into his lap, he started to massage them. His fingers were strong and firm, but gentle.

"I think there might be a fan or two in the basement. I'll check, then," he said.

Liv groaned as his thumb pressed harder into her instep, not quite hard enough to hurt.

"We definitely need one in the bedroom," she said, absentmindedly.

"Oh, yeah?" he said, laughing.

Liv blushed, realizing the implication of her words. But, she nodded and pulled her legs away from his lap. She'd never really considered herself a very good seductress; in fact, she always felt a little bit silly when Dean stared at her, lustfully. Silly, but damn lucky and it was always a turn-on when a gorgeous man stared at you with desire in his eyes, of course.

It was different with Sam, though. Maybe it was everything that had happened, or maybe it was just being with him, but she felt anything but silly when she crawled into his lap, straddling his thighs, and ran her hands up his chest and over his shoulders.

"Yeah. I think that would be a good idea," she whispered against his throat.

His body responded immediately, as she'd known it would. His hands ran up the length of her thighs and around her hips, gripping her lower back. His muscles tensed and tightened when her tongue darted out and tickled just below his left earlobe and he gasped when her teeth gripped the tender flesh there. His head fell back and his chest rose and fell more quickly as his breathing hastened.

"But for now," she continued, pausing briefly to suck gently on his neck, "I think we should take a bath."

"Okay," he answered. His tone was husky and lustful.

Together, they made their way to the bathroom, and the old, claw-foot bathtub, dropping the few articles of clothing they wore in the hallway.

* * *

Everything was different with Sam. She knew a lot of it had to do with the complete absence of any and all responsibility in their lives; in the past, they were consumed with cases, leviathan, angels and demons, anything and everything, it seemed. Without the distractions, they were free to enjoy themselves, and each other.

They read together; sometimes different books, sometimes they would actually read excerpts out loud. They went for long walks in the woods, though Liv drew the line at actual hiking. They watched silly movies, mostly horror films, and snuggled on the couch like a normal couple that hadn't spent the previous six months saving the world. They had picnics and barbeques, went grocery shopping and cooked elaborate recipes. And, of course, they made love.

Liv didn't like to compare Sam and Dean; it seemed weird and morbid and inappropriate, but it was hard not to recognize the differences. Sam was obviously much larger than his brother, and not just in height, but he made up for his size and density with a tenderness that Dean had never possessed. Sam was focused on her, always her before himself. He was a dedicated and persistent lover, offering a hundred percent of himself and never demanding anything in return. Liv tried to reciprocate, and felt like she generally did quite well in returning the favor.

For almost two weeks, everything was as close to perfect as could reasonably be expected, given their history.

* * *

"I'm exhausted…" Liv moaned. She rolled over beside him, breathing heavily.

He lay splayed out on the bed, all four limbs stretched in random directions, panting. They were both drenched in sweat, despite the fans that were strategically placed around the room; they did nearly nothing in the ninety five degree heat and overwhelming humidity of the mid-summer evening.

"Too exhausted for ice cream?" he finally asked when he'd caught his breath.

Liv shook her head. "I'm never too exhausted for ice cream, crazy." She propped her head up on one hand and watched him walk, completely naked and completely immodest, out of the bedroom. He returned seconds later with a pint of butter pecan and a spoon.

They were lying there, fighting each other for the biggest bites and laughing when freezing drops fell on each other's hot flesh, when it happened.

She knew he always tried to avoid looking directly at her scars; even when they were making love, his gaze always seemed to jump from one part of her body to the next without ever falling on that area, just below her breasts. But, when a small blob of ice cream dropped from the spoon directly onto the _E_ in Dean's name, he instinctively reached out to wipe it away. When his fingers passed over those jagged, white marks, he paused and she was terrified to see tears welling up in his eyes.

"Hey…" she said, softly. He looked up at her and the tears spilled out and ran down his cheeks. "Hey, it's okay."

But, it wasn't. He wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face between her breasts, sobbing. Liv was frozen, unsure of how to act in the face of such agony. She finally settled on slipping her arms around his neck and letting him cry. She knew that nothing she said would ever ease his pain.

He fell asleep like that, somehow. When his breathing had steadied and his eyes had closed, Liv carefully disentangled herself from his arms and slid out of the bed. The forgotten pint of ice cream had melted into thick, foamy liquid so she dropped it in the garbage can.

Liv tiptoed out of the room, shutting the door behind her, and into the hallway. The only light came from a small lamp in the living room. She walked, slowly and purposefully, toward the door of the room she had shared with Dean. The knob turned easily; of course, it was unlocked. When she stepped inside and snapped on the light, she was thrown by the overwhelming familiarity of the space.

Dean's things were placed around the room, neatly organized. His shoes and spare boots were lined up outside the closet; his leather jacket hung on back of the chair in the corner. His second favorite knife sat on a table, the vanity where she used to keep her toiletries. His clothes were hanging in the closet.

It smelled like him. She had thought that he and Sam had the same scent, but in reality they were only very similar. There, in that room, she was overwhelmed by Dean's musk; gun powder, oil, Old Spice… and just him.

Liv stepped farther into the room and shivered. It was colder than the rest of the house. She didn't know why that would be, but it was. In the mirror, above the vanity, several pictures were pressed beneath the wooden frame. A photo of her and Dean, one of her and Sam, another of Sam, Dean, and Bobby. One of Sam and Dean's mother, a pretty blonde woman with a warm smile. Sam and Dean, when they were children.

The nostalgia staggered her.

Liv stumbled toward the bed, her heard pounding in her chest. She sat down on the edge and leaned back. Her fingers slipped beneath one of the pillows, Dean's pillow, and brushed against something soft. She grasped it, pulled it out, and held it up. It was the Lynard Skynard t-shirt they'd fought over, a million years before. Liv held it up before her, staring blankly, as the memories washed over her.

She pulled the shirt closer and held it against the side of her face. When she closed her eyes, holding that piece of him so close, a piece of him that was so saturated in his scent and his essence, she could almost pretend he was right there.

But, when she opened her eyes, she was still alone and the bedroom felt even colder. Liv lay back on the bed, hugging the garment close, and wrapped the quilt around her body. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stifle the tormented, racking cries that forced themselves from her, soaking the pillow in her anguish.

* * *

The next morning, he found her seated at the kitchen table. She was waiting for him, he could tell. Molly sat at her feet. He had asked her not to leave without telling him, and she was honoring that request.

"Hi," he said. He didn't bother to sit down because she stood as he entered the room.

"Hi," she answered. She opened her mouth to continue but he interrupted.

"You're leaving, aren't you?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

She nodded. He saw pain in her eyes, and something else. Shame, maybe.

"I thought things were going so well," he said. It wasn't a question and he understood how wrong he had been.

"Yeah, me too," she said.

"But it wasn't," he continued. Also, not a question.

"No, I guess not," she agreed. She fiddled with her keychain.

He leaned back against the refrigerator and folded his arms. "You know I love you, right?"

Liv nodded, urgently. "I know you do. And I love you. But…"

"But what?" he asked. He hadn't meant to sound so angry, but there it was.

Liv sighed. "But, can you honestly tell me that you're in love with me?" she asked, bluntly.

It was Sam's turn to look away, awkwardly. He loved her, that was true. Was he in love with her? That was… that was harder to define. He loved being with her. He loved sleeping with her. He loved having her around. But, was he in love with her? He shook his head, sadly.

"No," he answered, and chewed on his thumbnail.

Liv nodded again, more slowly, and stepped toward him.

"I think we're never going to be okay together if we can't be okay apart," she said. It sounded rehearsed, but it rang with truth. "I think that while being together has been fun and the sex has been amazing, we've just been covering up the truth… And the truth is that we're both fucked up."

He smiled then, because she was so right. The greatest sex in the world couldn't hide the fact that they were broken, both of them, and pretending to be happy in love wouldn't fix anything.

"Dean's gone," she said, her voice breaking.

Sam hurried forward and gathered her into his arms. Their hug was natural, comfortable, and entirely innocent.

"I know," he said. "I know, he's gone."

"Being with you has brought me so much happiness," she said. She pulled back to look up at him. "But, I can't pretend that I'm not still in love with him. And you can't pretend you're in love with me, just because we don't want to be alone."

He nodded. "Where will you go?"

Liv shrugged. "I'm not sure," she said. She reached down to pick up the small, leather bag that was packed with her few belongings and started toward the door. "Maybe I'll just drive across the country. Molly and I love road trips."

He followed her to the door and held it open. "Don't forget my number," he said. He was surprised by the lack of sadness as she passed through the doorway. All he felt was emptiness, an emptiness he'd felt since he was woken her racking sobs the night before.

"I won't," she said. She didn't look back until she was inside the Jeep, with Molly in the passenger seat beside her. He didn't walk her to her car. He only watched from the doorway. "See you around."

Sam nodded and held up a hand in farewell.

"Take care of yourself," he said, much too quietly for her to hear. He watched her Jeep disappear around the bend before letting himself back inside.

A week later, he had left the cabin behind, as well.


	35. Chapter 35

**Whew, this has been a long trip, so far! And it's not over yet! I'm starting to wonder if it might make sense to split this entire, never-ending story into two… Or maybe I should keep it as one. After you guys read this chapter, let me know what you think.**

 **Also, I've seen a lot of other writers on the site include warnings when things get intense… I don't want to spoil anything for anyone BUT, for everyone's sake, I will say that things will get pretty dark in this chapter and the next (mostly the next but I'll include another warning there). Please, read with caution.**

 **Thanks to all my reviewers! It's so helpful hearing what people enjoyed and what they didn't like so much.**

 ** _PrettyInPeach_** **\- Thank you for the information! I really don't know much about guns, obviously, but I hate inaccuracies so I'm definitely going to come back to that one and make some changes! Please, please, if you see anything else, let me know!**

 **One more note…. While rewatching this episode, I realized that the Rufus cabin is actually in Montana… and it's quite a bit smaller and more ramshackle than I've previously written it. I apologize for that inconsistency and, in the future, let's reimagine the cabin as larger than it appears in the show! I'll go back and search for the references to the cabin's location in previous chapters and make the necessary changes. Thanks and sorry again. :/**

 **Oh yeah! I watched Juno the other day with Ellen Page and I realized that the punk receptionist in the women's health clinic Juno visits is none other than Emily Perkins AKA Becky Rosen! What?! Did anyone else ever realize this and completely freak out?! She looks so different but I** ** _knew_** **it was her when I heard her voice! Sorry, I just had to share that with someone who would understand how incredible it is lol.**

* * *

Making it through the woods was nothing, compared to what he'd been through. His arm throbbed and his feet ached and he felt like his teeth were coated in concrete or some other kind of hardened muck but, otherwise, he felt good. Refreshed. He felt like he could walk a thousand miles, if he had to. Thankfully, he didn't have to.

The bag he'd stolen, regretfully, from the two campers didn't hold much of any value. A cotton hoodie, a pair of socks, a few books by authors of whom he'd never heard… But, there was a bottle of water and a package of trail mix, garbage food he'd never eat any other time but was happy to practically inhale once he realized how _starving_ he was. There was no need to eat in purgatory and thank goodness for that because there was no food. The water got him through those twelve miles, and beyond, and when he finally made it through the treeline and hitched a ride into the nearest town, he still felt good. _Great_ , even. Escaping the beasts of purgatory does that to a man, he figured.

He couldn't be sure if the credit cards in his wallet, that he had somehow managed to hold onto for the past year, were still good so he used the cash he had, wrinkled, damp bills that the cashier handled with something akin to disgust, to buy some more provisions and a bus ticket to Louisiana.

Four days, and a whole lot of hitchhiking, later he was finally close to his destination. The man in the orange truck was amicable enough but Dean didn't want him anywhere near the site of Benny's intended emancipation. He trusted the vampire but he was playing it safe just in case. So he had the man drop him a few miles south and continued on foot. In what felt like no time, he was digging the hole and cursing Benny for being buried so deep in the ground.

"Anima corpori," he growled, wincing as the knife dug into his left forearm. The pain was excruciating, but also a relief, like when you dig out a splinter that's begun to fester. "Fuerit corpus… totem resurgent."

The fiery liquid drained out of his arm and landed in several small spatters onto the bones he'd unearthed. As each drop escaped his flesh, the burning sensation he'd been enduring for the past four days began to fade. Soon, the only pain he felt was from the shallow cut and even that was more tolerable; it was a good pain, one that would heal and eventually become nothing more than another scar.

He watched the liquid essence bubble and spark, like it was being coaxed by a live electrical wire.

"Wow," he muttered, collapsing to the ground, as the light faded.

Behind him, a man appeared, partially obscured by the shadows of the trees surrounding them.

"That was fast," Dean continued, as he stood and turned to face his friend.

"No thanks to you," Benny said, smirking. "The hell took you so long?"

Dean carefully stood, mindful of his wounded arm, and scowled. "You're welcome," he said, irately. "Everything working?"

"Good enough," Benny said, with a toothy smile that revealed all of his teeth. The rows of fangs slid into view. "So, what now?" he asked, when his fangs had slipped back into place.

Dean shrugged. "Like we talked about, I guess." He had never expected them to get this far, especially without Cas. The future was open, for both of them, and surprisingly less treacherous than he anticipated.

Benny nodded. "So this is goodbye."

"Keep your nose clean, Benny," Dean said. "You hear me?"

Benny approached him slowly, extending his right arm. The pair shook amiably, before Benny pulled Dean in for a hug. They embraced like old friends, each smiling triumphantly.

"We made it, brother," Benny said, grinning. "I can't believe it."

Dean laughed, almost unable to believe it himself. "You and me both."

"Where will you go now?" Benny asked, after they'd pulled apart.

Of that, Dean was sure. He planned to use the last of his cash to get back to Montana and get in touch with Sam and Liv. He fully expected the two of them to show up, deliriously happy to have him back, within hours of initial contact. After a cheerful, heartfelt reunion with Sam, he intended to hole up with Liv, in the cabin, for the next week with a case of beer, several pizzas, and absolutely zero interruptions.

"Eh, you know," he said, his eyes cloudy. "I'll find my family. After that… I don't know and I don't care."

Benny snickered. "Your brother, and your girl, right?"

Dean nodded. "Damn right."

"Well, I wish you luck," Benny said, kindly. "Family is important. The _most_ important thing, I'd say."

"I gotta agree with you there," Dean said.

There wasn't much more to say, Dean realized. They'd been through something, something neither of them could have endured, alone. But there, in the real world, there was no place for a hunter and vampire duo. And they had known it, all along. So, when it came time to say goodbye, Dean wasn't surprised or even disappointed, but he couldn't suppress a hint of sadness, and possibly regret. He couldn't waste time on it, though. He had to find his family.

* * *

Sam drove the fourteen hundred miles from Kermit to Montana in record time. He refused to let himself sleep for more than two hours and the whole trip took him less than a full day. He was pulling into the familiar driveway before his brain had completely wrapped around the idea of his brother being back. Even thinking it… _Dean's really back_ … It didn't make sense in his mind, after everything that had happened.

He wasn't afraid of it being a trick; he didn't think it was a demon or a leviathan or anything else that might be after his blood. No, what really frightened him was going over the many, terrifying reactions Dean might have when Sam pulled up, without Liv. He'd called her when he got Dean's message, of course. But she didn't answer, and she hadn't responded to his voicemail. She had vanished.

He had only himself to blame, really. After she left the cabin, the second and final time, they'd only spoken twice over the telephone and never in person. She needed time, and space. And soon he realized he did as well. The first time he called to ask her if she would come visit again. She'd politely declined, saying she just wasn't ready. The second time they spoke, she called to ask if he wanted to meet up. It was his turn to refuse. By then, he was just getting to know Amelia, a woman who intrigued and excited him. There was no place in his life for Liv. After that, and with only a modicum of shame, he'd shipped his phones to the cabin in Montana. No one would be there to sign for the package so he expected them to be sitting on the porch when he arrived. It occurred to him how difficult that would be to explain to Dean, as well…

Of course, once he'd parked the Impala and made his way up the porch stairs, the box was no longer on the porch. Dean was already there.

He pushed open the door, cautiously. It was dark inside, but it always was. The cabin had very poor lighting.

"What the - " he shouted as Dean shoved him to the ground and splashed what he assumed was holy water over his face and chest. "I'm not a demon!"

Dean clearly wasn't convinced and he proceeded to douse Sam with a huge splash of Borax.

"Or a leviathan! What -" Sam continued, irritably.

Sam's eyes widened and he winced when Dean brandished a large knife and sliced into his forearm with it. Blood ran freely down to Sam's hand.

"Or a shifter," Dean said, breaking his silence. "Good. My turn. Come on, let's go," he added when Sam hesitated.

"I don't need to," Sam said as he got to his feet. "I know it's you."

"Dammit, Sammy!" Dean shouted. He splashed himself with the holy water, followed by the Borax. "Come on!"

But Sam wouldn't take the knife. He wasn't about to cut open his brother.

"No! Dean, can I just say hello?"

But Dean wasn't going to let it go, as usual. He rolled up his sleeve and ran the sharp edge of the knife over his own arm.

"Alright," he said, grinning. "Well, let's do this."

"I don't know whether to give you a hug or take a shower," Sam said, but he couldn't suppress his smile.

"Come here," Dean laughed, holding out his arms.

Only when Sam held him in his arms did he fully accept that Dean was back.

"Dude," he said, raising his arms in the air. "You're freakin' alive!"

"Well, I guess standing too close to exploding Dick sends your ass straight to purgatory," Dean answered.

"You were in purgatory?" Sam asked, shocked by the implication. Purgatory was a place of violent darkness, inhabited by the most evil of creatures they'd come across, and worse. "For the whole year?"

"Yeah, time flies when you're running for your life," Dean said, smirking.

"Well, how'd you get out?"

Dean shrugged. "I guess whoever built that box didn't want me in there any more than I did."

"What does that mean?" Sam asked. He was astonished that Dean hadn't yet brought up Liv's absence.

"I'm here, okay?" Dean said, shortly.

"What about Cas? Was he there?"

For the first time since Sam had stepped inside the cabin, Dean showed signs of stress and anxiety. He turned away from Sam and rubbed his hand over his mouth.

"Yeah," Dean said, monotonously. "Cas didn't make it."

Sam frowned. "What exactly does that mean?"

"Something happened to him down there," Dean said. "Things got pretty hairy towards the end and he… just let go."

"So Cas is dead?" Sam asked. "You saw him die?"

"I saw enough."

Sam was frustrated by Dean's refusal to answer him definitively. "So then what? You're not sure?"

Dean turned back to him. "I said I saw enough, Sam."

"Right. Dean, I'm sorry."

"Me too," Dean said. He perked up considerably, though. "So, you. I can't believe you're actually here. You know that half your numbers are out of service? Felt like I was leaving messages in the wind." He pulled out two beers from the fridge and sat at the table.

There it was. Sam hadn't yet been able to come up with a response that he thought would satisfy his brother, but he was out of time.

"Yeah," he said, carefully. "I… I didn't get your messages."

"How come?"

Sam shrugged. "Probably because I ditched the phones." He pointed at the box, sitting on the floor just inside the front door.

"Because?" Dean asked. Sam could hear tension and volatility in Dean's tone.

"I guess… Umm… I guess something happened to me this year, too. I don't hunt anymore." Sam smiled lamely, knowing his explanation would be unacceptable to his die-hard hunter of a brother.

"Yeah, and Sasha Grey's gone legit," Dean said, harshly. "What?"

Sam tried not to smile. "Nothing. Um… she did a Soderbergh movie."

Dean shook his head, angrily. "What?"

"She did a Soderbergh -" Sam started to repeat himself but Dean interrupted.

"No, _you_ , Sam. You _quit_?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I… you were gone, Dean. Cas was gone, Bobby was dead. I mean, Crowley even shipped off Kevin and Meg to parts unknown." Sam took a deep breath, steeling himself. "And then Liv left."

Dean's eyes narrowed.

"What do you mean, she _left_? Where is she?" The tension had given way and been replaced by undeniable hostility.

Sam nodded. "I don't know, Dean. She left. She needed… space."

"Space?" Dean demanded. "What the hell does that mean?"

"I dunno, Dean. She needed to get away from all the bullshit."

Dean shook his head, as if in disbelief. Sam felt horrible; he knew that Liv wasn't abandoning Dean, and if she'd known he was back she would have been there in a heartbeat. But she was unreachable.

"So Liv left and you just turned tail on the family business?"

Sam knew he'd never be able to make Dean understand. "Nothing says 'family' quite like the whole family being dead."

"I wasn't dead," Dean said, sternly. He stood up and approached Sam. "In fact, I was knee-deep in God's armpit killing monsters, which I thought is what we actually _do_."

Sam sighed. "Yes, Dean. And as far as I knew, what we do is the thing that got every single member of my family killed. I had no one - no one. And for the first time in my life, I was completely alone. And honestly, I didn't exactly have a roadmap. When Liv left, I kind of lost track of who I was. I fixed up the Impala and I just… drove."

"After you looked for me," Dean said. "Did you two look for me, Sam?"

Sam didn't want to answer. It hadn't occurred to him to look for Dean; the explosion in the lab had been so finite, so resolute. There was nothing to look for.

"Good," Dean continued. "That's good. No, we… we always told each other not to look for each other. That's smart. Good for you. Of course, we always ignored that because of our deep, abiding love for each other, but not this time, right Sammy?"

Sam still didn't respond. He stared down at his boots, wondering if the shame he was feeling was actually deserved.

"What about Liv? Did she just accept my fate, too? Did she give up, right away?"

Sam finally looked up. He remembered how Liv had insisted they get in touch with Crowley, find the alpha vampire, search for another angel… Anyone or anything that might have some idea of how to get Dean back. And Sam had refused. He was so entirely certain that Dean was dead. And, in time, he'd convinced her.

"I just… I just didn't think there was a chance…" Sam said.

Dean's eyes narrowed.

"Look, I'm still the same guy, Dean," Sam said.

Dean breathed audibly, all of the muscles in his face tense and strained. "Well, bully for you," he said. "I'm not."

Sam watched him stalk off, toward his and Liv's old bedroom. Sam pulled out his phone and dialed her number again, hoping she'd answer and come back to ease some of the tension. Instead, an automated voice informed him that the number had been disconnected.

"Welcome back…" he said, to no one.

* * *

The box held at least eleven disconnected and uncharged cell phones. They had two chargers and Dean was only on the third phone when he found Kevin's messages.

Sam sat at the table, eating, while pretending not to be interested and trying to hide how guilty he felt as Dean played the messages.

The first three were upsetting enough, though Kevin's drunk calls were mildly amusing, but the last was downright distressing.

" _Sam_ ," Kevin said. " _It's been six months. I can only assume you're dead. If not, don't try and reach me. You won't be able to. I won't be calling this number anymore."_

Dean stood and stalked toward Sam. He tossed the phone at Sam's chest. "He was our responsibility. And you couldn't answer the damn phone."

Sam slammed the phone down on the table. He was angry, and offended.

"Look, I get it, Dean! I fucked up and I'm sorry!"

Dean smiled, meanly. "I'm sure that really means a lot to Kevin now. If he's even still alive."

Sam sighed. "Look, he's not a baby. He got away from Crowley."

Dean spun around, glaring. "Yeah, and thank Christ he figured that out. Are you sure Liv left or did you run away from her, too?"

Sam glowered. He realized how close to the truth Dean actually was.

"I didn't run away from her!" he insisted. "She left on her own and the last time I talked to her, she was happy!"

Dean stopped. Sam knew that what he said wasn't the entire truth; she had sounded like she missed him, but she _had_ said things were going well. But for some reason, he saw sadness in Dean's eyes.

"She was happy?" Dean asked. His tone was no longer angry. On the contrary, it was melancholy and resigned.

"Yeah," Sam nodded. "She did. She was with her family; she got a new job."

Dean groaned and lowered himself onto the couch. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

"Don't call her, anymore," he said.

"What?" Sam asked. "Why not?"

Dean opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling.

"Because she's happy, and she's out. She's safe."

Sam shook his head. "But Dean, you meant everything to her. And I know how much you love her."

Dean's jaw tensed as his teeth ground together.

"It doesn't matter," he said. "It's worth it if she's safe from Crowley… from vampires and demons… from _me_."

Sam didn't know what to say. He didn't agree with the decision, but it wasn't his choice to make.

* * *

Narrowing down Kevin's location was easier than Sam expected. The following evening, they were checked into the Palm Motel, halfway to Centreville, preparing to question Kevin's high school girlfriend. They still had serious driving to do but he thought that if they got another early start, they'd be on campus by the next afternoon.

Dean had been fairly quiet and Sam was sure it had to do with him coming to terms with his decision to never see or speak to Liv again. It wore on Sam, as well. It was odd being back in the Impala, with Dean, without her presence. She'd only been a part of their lives for less than a year, before Dean disappeared, but she was a _big_ part. An _important_ part.

"You okay?" Sam asked as he stepped out of the bathroom.

Dean was sitting on one of the beds, looking even more tense than he had earlier in the day.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, hey, what do you say we blow this joint? Hit the road?"

"Now?" Sam asked, incredulously.

"Yeah, Kevin's not getting any more found."

Sam shook his head. "The kid survived a year without us. He'll be okay for another twelve hours. Besides, when's the last time you slept?"

"Hmm…" Dean said, disregarding Sam's question.

"What?" Sam asked, hearing the snark in Dean's tone.

"Nothing. Is that how you rationalized taking a year off? 'People will be okay'?"

Sam sighed. "People _were_ okay, Dean. You're okay. Liv is okay."

"Wow," Dean said.

"Look, I did what we promised we'd do. I moved on. I lived my life."

"Yeah, no," Dean said. "I'm getting that." He got up and started circling the room with his hands on his hips.

Sam shook his head. "Look, it wasn't like I was… just oblivious. I mean, I read the paper every day. I saw the weird stories… the kind of stuff we used to chase." He sat down on the other bed.

"And you said what? 'Not my problem'?"

"Yes, and you know what? The world went on," Sam said.

"People died, Sam," Dean countered.

Sam didn't even know why he kept going, but he felt powerless. He had to defend his decisions, even though he knew it was pointless. "People will always die, Dean. Or maybe another hunter took care of it. I don't know, but the point is for the first time, I realized it wasn't only up to me to stop it."

"So what was it? What could possibly make you stop just like that? A girl? Was there a girl?"

Sam tried to hide his smile. "The girl had nothing to do with it."

"There _was_ a girl," Dean said.

"Yeah. There was. And then there wasn't. Any more questions?"

Dean raised his eyebrows. He stopped pacing and leaned back against the wall, before sliding to the floor.

"Listen, I know this is gonna sound crazy to you," Sam began, not sure where he was going. "I don't even necessarily need you to understand. But, you need to know. I didn't just drop out, Dean. I found something. Something I've never had all my life. You had it with Liv. You know how important it is, how much it can consume you."

Dean was quiet for a minute.

"Yeah," he finally said, and Sam could hear all the agony and regret in his voice and knew that he finally understood.

* * *

Kevin's girlfriend, or rather, Kevin's _ex_ -girlfriend, was no help at all. She hadn't heard from Kevin, and she didn't know where he was. But it turned out, they didn't need her. Sam was able to narrow down Kevin's location to an abandoned church in Iowa.

Eight hours later, they were parked outside the building. It was falling apart and clearly hadn't been used or maintained in several years, but it was a perfect hideout.

Sam pushed open the double doors and the two of them stepped inside, scanning the darkened interior for any sign of movement. They didn't have to look for long. Within seconds, Kevin leapt out in front of them and hosed them down, using a giant watergun filled with Borax.

"Stop!" Dean shouted, holding up his hands. "Stop! Not leviathans. It's us!"

Kevin stared at them, wide-eyed.

"What the hell happened to you guys?" he demanded.

"Cliff notes? I went to purgatory. Sam hit a dog," Dean answered. He wiped the Borax from his face with his sleeve.

"For real?" Kevin asked. "You want some towels?"

He led them through the room, which was covered with sigils and ciphers. The floor and walls were all adorned with the wards.

"Who taught you all this?" Dean asked, motioning toward the painted symbols.

"I guess… God," Kevin said.

"God taught you how to trap demons?" Sam asked.

"Technically, yeah."

"Wait, wait, hold on," Sam said. "Crowley kidnapped you. I saw that. But then you left a message saying you escaped. How?"

"Well…" Kevin began.

The story was fascinating, and hardly believable. The demons had found another tablet and, instead of creating a gateway to Hell, Kevin had created a bomb which enabled him to escape and killed two of his captors, in the process. A bomb that killed demons - Sam had never heard of such a thing.

"You son of a bitch," Dean said, smiling, when Kevin had finished his tale.

"Wait," Sam said. "Kevin, where's the tablet now?"

"Safe," Kevin answered, and he would say no more on the subject.

It wasn't nearly as awkward as Sam expected it to be. He apologized to Kevin, but the boy didn't even seem bothered by what had happened. The three were just preparing to leave the church when the entire building began to shake and shudder. The wooden planks creaked and groaned and the floorboards splintered until the wards were broken into pieces.

"We got company," Dean said. "Sam." He handed Sam a knife and pulled out the large, crudely crafted weapon he'd collected during his time below.

"What the hell is that?" Sam asked. It was like some kind of combination of a knife and a machete, but the blade was carved from the bone of a creature that didn't _couldn't_ exist in the real world.

"It's purgatory," Dean answered, flatly.

Just then, the doors to the church flew open and two black-eyed demons stormed in.

Sam was out of practice but Dean had been fighting, out-numbered, for the past year. He, Sam, and Kevin made short work of the demons. When Dean had buried the knife, up to the hilt, in the second demons chest, they stood back and readied themselves for a second wave of attacks.

None of them were prepared, though, when Crowley appeared with Channing at his side, her eyes as black as onyx.

"Hello, boys," he said. "Dean, you're looking… well, let's just say purgatory didn't do you any favors. Where's your angel?"

"Ask your mother," Dean said, glaring at the King of Hell.

"There's that grade-school zip," Crowley said. "Missed it. I really did. Moose! Still with the pork chops. I admire that."

"Let Channing go," Kevin said, suddenly.

"That's not Channing, Kevin. Not anymore," Dean said, holding out a hand.

"What an awful thing to say to the boy," Crowley said. "Of course it's Channing. Kev, last time we danced, you stole my tablet and killed my men. Tell you what - come with me now - bygones. And I'll let the girl go back to… What's the point U."

"He's lying," Dean proclaimed. "You won't get Channing back. She's probably dead, already."

Crowley sighed. "Will you please stop saying that? Let the girl speak." He snapped his fingers and Channing's irises returned to their natural color, a warm dark brown.

"Kevin?" she said in a small, frightened voice.

"Channing?!" Kevin called.

"What's going on?" she asked, looking around the church.

"There's a demon in you," Kevin said. "And you're going to your safety school."

"What?!" she said, sounding absolutely horrified.

"But it's gonna be okay," Kevin continued.

"I…I… I just… I can't," Crowley said, shaking his head.

"No, no wait!" Kevin pleaded, to no avail.

Crowley snapped his fingers, again, and Channing's eyes returned to their ink-black state.

"Okay," Kevin said. "I'll do it."

"Kevin…" Sam said, carefully. He didn't think they boy really understood what he was agreeing to. He also knew Dean would never let it happen, regardless of what happened to the girl.

"Myself for the girl. But this ends. Alright? No fighting, no nothing. It ends," Kevin said.

"Can't let you do that, buddy," Dean said.

"Or what? You'll kill me?" Kevin asked him, smirking. "I'll grab my stuff." He hurried out of the main chapel, toward a side room.

"Chin up, gentleman," Crowley said, smiling at Sam and Dean. "I'm a professional."

"This ain't over by a long shot, Crowley," Dean said, in a menacing tone.

"Really, Dean?" Crowley said, disparagingly. "Who writes your stuff? A marshmallow?" Crowley turned away from them and called out, toward the side room. "Come on, Kevin! Chop, chop!"

"Hang on a sec," they heard Kevin shout from deep within the vestibule.

Crowley turned back to Dean, smiling patiently. "Oh, Dean… I was just wondering if you'd heard from your little girlfriend since you've been back? No?"

Sam looked back and forth between Dean and Crowley. Dean's jaw clenched and tensed but Crowley's smug smirk never wavered.

"Didn't think so," Crowley continued when Dean didn't respond.

Dean raised the knife but Crowley simply snapped his fingers and the weapon began to glow a bright, hot red. Dean dropped it, shouting.

Crowley stepped past them and approached the door through which Kevin had disappeared. Channing followed closely behind.

But Kevin was ready for him. As soon as the door opened, he pulled a cord and a bucket-load of holy water dropped onto Crowley and Channing from above. Their flesh sizzled and steam billowed up from the burns on their skin.

"Sam, Dean, run!" Kevin shouted.

The three of them sprinted toward the Impala and bundled inside. Dean slammed the car into gear and peeled out of the parking lot as Crowley and Channing stepped onto the front steps. Seconds later, a huge, long cloud of black smoke poured out of her mouth as the demon possessing her body escaped. Sam watched, horrified, as Crowley twisted his hand and Channing's neck snapped to the side, killing her instantly, an expression of pure terror and confusion still visible on her face and in her brown eyes. She fell to the ground.

Dean was too distracted to notice the carnage they'd left behind.

"Call her!" he shouted, shoving his cell phone at Sam.

"I… I can't… It won't work…" Sam stammered.

"Just do it!" Dean insisted.

But Sam was right. No matter how many times he called her number, he never got past the tinny, automated voice telling him the number was out of service.

* * *

They drove straight through the night, headed directly for the cabin and the remainder of Sam's and Dean's abandoned phones. Dean wouldn't even allow Sam to drive; he insisted on remaining behind the wheel, stopping only to refuel. He ordered Sam to try her number, at least twice an hour, but the calls never went through.

It took them a day and a half to reach the cabin and Dean immediately went for the phones. Sam and Kevin sat at the table, watching him fight with each powerless device.

"Fucking phones…" Dean muttered, rummaging through the different charging cords. He found one that matched the phone he was holding and plugged it in. It powered on at a snail's pace.

"Anything?" Sam asked.

Dean nodded and held up one hand.

There were dozens of messages on the phone, but only four were from Liv. Dean played them, on speaker, so that Sam could also hear.

The first was cheerful and upbeat, from eight months before. She was just calling to check in and say hello. The second was a bit off, though… She mentioned feeling tired, that she'd been thinking of Dean a lot and it was taking a toll on her. Dean's eyes narrowed at the strain in her voice.

The third message was even more troubling.

" _Hey, Sammy…"_ she said. Her tone was odd, tight somehow, and she sounded weak. " _Can you please call me? I'm sorry… I don't want to mess up your life but… Please, just call me. Thanks. Miss you_."

Dean glared up at his brother but he didn't shout. He couldn't. There was still a message to hear.

The fourth, and final, message was enough to freeze Sam in place. Dean's eyes widened and filled with tears that didn't fall. He leaned back on the couch and covered his face with one hand. With the other, he pressed play so that they could all hear the message again.

" _Sam, it's Liv_ ," her voice filled the cabin, hysterical and pained, in absolute agony. " _Please call me. I… I think I'm going crazy. Something's really wrong and I don't know what to do_." As she spoke, her voice shattered and disintegrated. She was sobbing and nearly incoherent by the end of the message. " _Please, please call me, Sam. I really need your help. I keep seeing him, everywhere I go. I keep hearing his voice… Sam, I'm losing my mind. Please, call me. Please_ …" It was from three days before Dean returned from purgatory.

"Where was she, the last time you spoke to her?" Dean asked, urgently.

"Georgia," Sam answered. "I think maybe she was staying with her sister." But he wasn't sure. He thought she might have mentioned Evelyn. He couldn't remember if she had told him where she was living. He didn't remember much of the conversation; he'd been so preoccupied with Amelia and their burgeoning romance. He hated himself for being so dismissive, for being so flippant.

Dean pointed at the computer. "Look up the nearest airport. Find the earliest flight."

Dean never flew; it was one of his terms, an unspoken rule that they followed, categorically. Sam was almost more unnerved by Dean's suggestion that they fly to Liv than he was by her messages but he nodded and pulled up a site that listed airline schedules.

"Okay, there's one in an hour. Can we get there that fast?" he asked, after a few moments of frantic searching.

Dean, who had been pacing the living room, stopped and considered. "Yeah, if I drive."

"Okay, I'm booking it, now," Sam said. "Is Kevin coming?"

Dean was about to answer, but was interrupted by a knock at the front door.

The three of them turned and stared. When no one moved, their visitor knocked, again. Dean stalked toward the door and pulled it open. On the porch, Meg waited with wide eyes, without a trace of her signature sneer.

"Meg," Dean said. "What do you want? We don't have time for any bullshit."

Meg stepped into the cabin and glanced around the room, her gaze never lingering on any of them for more than a second. "Crowley sent me…" she said, softly.

"Why?" Dean demanded, loudly enough to make her jump. He advanced on her, threateningly.

Meg finally looked up at him. Sam realized that, for the first time since he'd met her, she looked absolutely terrified.

"He told me to tell you…" she began.

"Tell me what?" Dean shouted, towering over her.

She looked down at the floor and then back up at him. "He told me to tell you it's too late. _You're_ too late… She's gone."

"Gone where?" Sam asked, quietly. But he was certain he already knew what she meant. Why else would she look so afraid?

"She's dead," Meg said, backing away from Dean whose fists were clenched, tight and trembling. "Liv's dead."


	36. Chapter 36

**WARNING: The following chapter contains explicit descriptions of self-harm as well as suicidal ideations and actions! Please do not read if these are triggers for you! Again, PLEASE do not read if this type of content will be painful for you!**

 **This chapter was pretty hard to write, I'm not gonna lie. I do want to emphasize that this is NOT the end of Liv's story, though.**

 _"If you must die,  
die knowing your life was my life's best part."_

 _~Keaton Henson_

Liv had always considered herself to be a balanced, level-headed, and fairly rational individual. She understood that there were forces in the world, odd anomalies that _shouldn't_ exist in a sensible world, but she'd been exposed to them from an early age. She knew that vampires were real, that wendigos were a valid threat, that demons and angels walked the earth, disguised as typical humans; she knew that reapers watched over the population, only showing themselves to the doomed or marked for death. She wasn't afraid of those things, not anymore, though she knew she should be. The only thing that really frightened her was the condemnation of a life alone - a life without Dean.

So, when she began to see him - swift, fleeting glances that left her wondering - she didn't immediately give credit to the absurdity. She brushed off the feelings of overwhelming panic and hopefulness that overcame her the first time his face appeared in a crowd of strangers. She saw him, smiling at her from the opposite side of the street, but her gaze passed over him quickly and when she faltered and looked back, he was gone. For an instant, the tiniest nanosecond of time, her heart stopped and filled with eagerness but even before she returned her attention to his location, she had pushed aside those feelings and decided it was just a fluke or wish fulfillment. When she saw the sidewalk, still crowded but undoubtedly void of her true love's presence, she couldn't even be disappointed.

The second time she saw him, he was standing at a bus stop a block away and he was alone. She couldn't attribute her vision to the chaos and confusion of a heavy crowd; he was standing there, beside a bench with his hands on his hips and there was no crowd to blame for her hallucination. And he was smiling at her, again. Liv stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and her mouth dropped open. Behind her, an unknown man plowed into her back, knocking her off balance. Her bag slid from her shoulder and fell to the ground, spilling its contents across the pavement. By the time Liv, and the man, had gathered up all of her loose change, Dean had disappeared. Liv looked up and down the street, searching for any sign of a man whom she might have mistaken for him, but there was no one. She felt sadness then, and regret, but only for what she had lost.

She saw him several more times over the next several weeks, sometimes lost in a maze of unknown bodies, rushing around; other times she would catch a glimpse of him down some lonely hallway or corridor, leaning against the wall with his signature smirk or with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans.

Each time, she paused and shook her head, wondering whether she needed more sleep or perhaps her glasses prescription needed updated. He was always gone when she looked back. Each sighting brought about those feelings of true heartbreak and grief; she missed him dreadfully and each time she saw him, those wounds were reopened.

The first time he spoke to her, she was working and it was late at night. She had taken a part-time job at a local mortuary, Sanderson's Family Funeral Home, and she was staying late to help with some last-minute services. She wasn't alone in the funeral home but she was alone in the chapel, arranging flowers over the top panel of a polished, mahogany casket. The casket contained the remains of an elderly woman, a woman who had recently passed, enviably, in her sleep. Liv had embalmed the woman earlier in the day.

Liv had never been frightened of the dead, or the empty vessels they left behind. She took pride in her work, in knowing that she treated the recently deceased with respect and kindness. Death was a comfort to her.

The enormous arrangement of white roses was lovely, but the scent was overpowering. She had never really liked the smell of fresh roses but they were unfortunately common at funeral services. Liv tugged and nudged each bloom into place until she was satisfied with the placement; she hummed to herself as she worked and tried to ignore the invading perfume of the flowers. After a few minutes, it occurred to her that the smell was fading away, though she was still elbow deep in the arrangement. She inhaled deeply through her nose, utterly confused by the lack of olfactory sensation. It wasn't until she leaned back, sniffing, that she realized the smell of the roses had been replaced by something even more familiar… Old Spice, gun powder, motor oil… Liv whirled around, scanning the darkened chapel, and saw him.

He was standing by the wide entryway, motionless. Behind him, dim light spilled in from the foyer, masking his face in shadows. She couldn't see his eyes, not at first, but she knew it was him.

"Dean?" she whispered and stepped down from the short step-stool she needed to reach the top of the casket. "Is that you?" It was an unnecessary question but she asked it, anyway.

"Hey, baby," he answered. She watched him take a few steps toward her; the aisle between the pews was mildly slanted so with each step he took, the top of his head dropped lower and lower until the light from the foyer no longer obscured his expression. She saw his eyes, those bright, emerald irises that she'd gazed into countless times before.

She couldn't speak. Her lips formed a narrow O in her shock and disbelief. She gripped a stray rose, oblivious to the thorns tearing into her palms.

When he was a mere ten feet away, he stopped. There was no smile on his face; instead, he looked sad. Forlorn. Desolate. He reached out to her with his right hand.

"I miss you…" he said.

Liv felt wet, warmth in her hand and she looked down. A thin, trail of blood was spilling out of her clenched fists. Droplets pattered onto the white carpet at her feet. She opened her hand and saw that one of the thorns had deeply pierced her flesh.

She looked up, still struggling to find the words, but he was gone. The chapel was empty, aside from herself and the newly departed elderly woman. But the scent lingered.

When she got home that evening, she called Sam but he didn't answer. She left a message, trying to hide her distress. He never returned her call.

She dreamt of Dean that night. The dreams were vivid and corporeal; it was like watching a very surreal movie of their time together. She could feel him, firm and solid beneath her fingers; she could hear his voice, telling her that he still loved her, still wanted her. She couldn't remember a dream from her past where she could actually _smell_ the subject of her vision but his scent followed her even into wakefulness. Before she opened her eyes, she sensed his presence in the bed beside her but when she sat up, she and Molly were alone.

Her visions intensified and within a month, she was convinced that she'd either lost her mind or Dean was trying to tell her something… something that would have dire consequences.

* * *

 _ **Three Days Before Dean's Return**_

"Hi, Jodi," Liv said. She tried to force a measure of cheer and positivity into her tone but it was nearly impossible. And, on top of that, it was probably pointless. She knew how she looked.

Liv's eyes were red and raw; her hair was lank and ratted. She had lost more weight and her ribs were prominent beneath her baggy sweater. The garment was strategically chosen to hide her emaciated condition but she realized too late that the choice had been a mistake. She looked even gaunter with the extra folds of fabric surrounding her.

Jodi stared at her with an expression of shock and alarm.

"Hey, Liv," she finally said. "How've you been?"

Liv shrugged. She thought it was probably obvious how she had been but she wasn't about to voice it. It wasn't her fault, anyway.

Since the night in the chapel, the month before, Dean had come to her every day, several times a day. Her phone rang at all hours of the night and the caller ID always identified his number - the number to the cell phone that had been obliterated in the lab of SucroCorp. She hadn't slept for six days; she hadn't eaten for over two weeks.

"I'm okay," Liv answered and hitched the waistband of her knit pants up and over her protruding hip bones. The pants had a drawstring but the elastic was weakened with age and wear. "How are you?"

Jodi ushered her into the living room and the two of them sat on the couch. Molly, whom Liv guided into the house by a braided leash, curled up on Jodi's recliner.

"Doing okay, I suppose," Jodi said. "Want some coffee? Something to eat, maybe?" She stared pointedly at Liv's collarbones, which poked out at jagged angles.

Liv shook her head.

"No, I don't really have much time. I have to get going."

Jodi nodded and leaned back. "Okay… So, what brings you by?"

Liv fought the tears but they were relentless. The filled her eyes and spilled out over her hollow cheeks. "I was just wondering if you could keep Molly for me."

Jodi scooted closer to Liv and reached out to rest a hand on her shoulder, but Liv wouldn't allow it. She couldn't. If Jodi offered kindness, Liv was afraid she would lose her focus.

"Why?" Jodi asked. "What's going on?"

Liv shook her head. She jumped up from the couch and hurried to the chair, where the dog was already snoozing. She knelt and gently stroked the dog's back. Liv closed her eyes tightly pressed her forehead against Molly's and kissed her snout. Molly looked up, briefly, and licked away the dampness from Liv's cheeks.

"Just take care of her, okay?" Liv said. She stood slowly but kept a hand on Molly's neck. "Please?"

Jodi nodded. "You know I will but tell me why, Liv."

But she couldn't. She knelt down and kissed the dog again, whispering into Molly's velvety ears how much she loved her and forced herself to walk away.

"I can't," Liv said. She wiped at her nose with one of her long sleeves and cleared her throat while heading for the door. "I'm sorry but I can't."

Jodi shot up and reached for Liv but she was too fast. She was out the door and halfway across the lawn by the time Jodi had reached the porch.

"Come on, Liv!" Jodi called. "Come inside, I'll make some coffee. We can talk, like old times!"

Liv shook her head. She opened the driver's door of her Jeep but paused.

"Another time," she said. "Hey, Jodi... I just want to say thanks. For everything." Liv thought for certain she was about to cry again so, before the tears could reemerge, she launched herself into the Jeep and started the engine. Jodi was still talking, probably trying to convince her not to leave, but Liv didn't hear. She cranked up the radio, slammed the truck into reverse, and sped out of the driveway.

* * *

He wasn't a ghost, of that she was certain. He had shown himself at all hours of the day, whether she carried a belonging of his or not. He couldn't be tethered to some physical possession because she had nothing that he'd once owned. On top of that, her EMF detector, passed along by Sam from Dean's collection, was perpetually silent though she knew it was functioning.

He wasn't a demon because she had seen him vanish and the only demon capable of such a feat was Crowley. His eyes were always the same brilliant shade of green.

He wasn't a specter, or a tulpa, or a ghoul. He wasn't a wraith.

He spoke to her, occasionally at first but by the end, his ramblings were ceaseless. He never seemed to shut up, keeping her awake all night long. She could hear him, and smell him, but she could never _feel_ him. When she reached for his hand or arm, her fingertips would slip right through him.

His words mirrored her own feelings of loss. He told her that he missed her, loved her, that he wanted them to be together. He would go away for thirty minutes or so, but he always came back and while he was gone, her phone would ring ceaselessly.

When Dean died, Liv would have done or given anything to get him back but, faced with his eternal presence, she found herself wishing for him to go away. She was suffocating in his relentless dirge of abyssal affection. All he wanted, he continued to stress, was for them to be reunited. His only wish, he told her, was to hold her in his arms, again.

He was a poor phantom of his true self and it broke her heart to see him in such a way.

Liv had a greater appreciation for Sam's condition, when he was haunted by delusions of Lucifer. She didn't know if she had gone completely insane or if Dean really was reaching out to her from some alternate dimension. After a week without sleep, it didn't matter.

When he started whispering into her ear that he knew how they could be together, she was too tired to argue. Why would he lie? He loved her and she loved him. She wanted to be with him.

* * *

After dropping off Molly, she stopped at a gas station in Nebraska and made a last-ditch effort to contact Sam but he still wasn't answering his phone. Dean watched from the passenger's seat with a shrewd smile, as if he already knew that Sam wouldn't be available.

Liv tried to drive straight back to her apartment in Georgia but her brain was fuzzy and her eyes weren't working properly. She missed exits and took wrong turns, forever guided by the shadow of her deceased lover. With Dean driving the Impala, the trip would have taken less than a day; in her muddled state of consciousness, twice as long had passed before she pulled into the her assigned parking space at the apartment building.

She'd rented the loft when living with her sister's family had begun to overwhelm her with anxiety. It was a small space, above an empty warehouse, but it offered an abundance of privacy and the rent was low enough for her to afford, even working part-time.

Liv stumbled up the two flights of stairs with Dean at her heels. Her vision was cloudy and seemed to double or even triple, at times. Her doorknob danced before her eyes and she struggled to fit her house key into the lock. After multiple attempts, she finally found herself inside. She stood by the kitchen counter, wavering unsteadily on her increasingly weakened legs.

"Just a little while longer, darlin'," he said.

"Okay," she answered, monotonously.

Liv walked into the kitchen and opened a drawer. A previous tenant, some artist most likely, had left a nearly full cardboard box of razor blades. The box was spattered with red, yellow, and orange paint but the blades inside were clean. She plucked one from the container and held it up at eye level.

"I'm so tired," she muttered.

The phantom Dean nodded sympathetically. He rested a hand on her shoulder; though she saw it, she felt nothing.

"I know," he said. "You can go to sleep soon, and when you wake up I'll be waiting for you."

"Are you sure?" she asked him. The razor blade slipped from her trembling fingers and fell to the floor.

"I'm sure," he said, firmly. "But you know what you have to do."

"Alright," she mouthed, unable to muster the strength to even speak.

"Pick that up and come with me," he said, motioning toward the razor blade.

Liv knelt down and grasped the blade. The edge sliced into the pad of her index finger and she winced but there was no pain. Her fingers were nearly numb. She followed him through the living space, stopping at the edge of her bed. The comforter was softy and downy, pure white, as were her sheets.

"Should I lie down?" she asked.

He sat on the edge of the bed. "I think so," he said.

"Will you lay down with me?"

He nodded and laid back. The blankets and pillows didn't move beneath him.

Liv slipped beneath the comforter and sheets. She tried to lean against him but her shoulder met nothing but empty air.

"I'm so tired," she breathed. "I'm so tired and I miss you so much."

"I know, baby," he said. He slid an arm beneath her neck and, though she saw it, she felt nothing but the pillow behind her head. "It's time."

Liv nodded. A few tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes but she was too exhausted to be sad.

"Yes," she said. "It's time."

She felt nothing when the blade sliced into the delicate flesh of her wrists. The bright red of her blood against the white of her sheets and blanket was strangely beautiful. She watched it spill out, soaking the fabric, and forming small pools.

When her eyelids were too heavy to hold open, she let them close. He didn't speak or disturb her. As she drifted off, she felt his arm begin to solidify behind her neck. His hand gripped her shoulder and his lips pressed against her temple. She smiled as she felt his touch for the first time in over a year and everything else disappeared.

She was already unconscious when Dean's face began to contort and shift into an entirely different visage. His hair and eyes darkened and his flannel shirt and blue jeans morphed into a black suit jacket and trousers. The entire transformation took less than a minute.

"There's a good girl," Crowley said. He reached up and brushed away a strand of her hair that had fallen into the middle of her face. "Everything will be alright now."

* * *

Nearly fifteen hundred miles away, deep within the vast expanse of uninhabited forest in Maine, Dean, the _real_ Dean, had just shattered the fragile portal between Purgatory and Earth and was beginning the long and arduous journey back to civilization and, he thought, to Liv.


	37. Chapter 37

**It's so odd to write from the guy's perspectives… Does anyone else struggle with that? It's easier for me to write from Liv's because I created her and because she's a girl.**

 **Yes, Crowley is a butthead - but there something about him that's also a little hot. As crazy as it sounds, the Liv/Crowley relationship has always been the basis of this fic. It's just taken a looooooong time to get to it. But don't worry; soon enough we will all know why Crowley has shown such an interest in her! And why he wanted/needed her dead.**

 **Also, I know that some of the dates might be wonky. I have researched this a lot and there's a lot of confusion regarding the year that passed between season 7 and season 8… Apparently the writers keep the general dates of the episodes close to their original air date? But, there are two separate seasons that had extended time periods between the finale and the next season's start date that the writers have not chronologically included. I know, this is confusing but I just want everyone to know that I understand her date of death might not be exactly what you think it should be. The most important thing to take from this, and it's not even actually important, is that Liv was 30 when she died and she is older than Sam.**

 **Anyway, the sadness continues…**

* * *

"Dean, I don't think you should come inside with me."

They had been sitting in the parking lot of the county medical examiner's office for at least ten minutes, both of them silent and caught up in their own reflections of anger, sorrow, and self-blame. Sam wanted to go in and get it over with but each time he opened his car door, Dean hadn't followed. He only stared straight ahead, his gaze frozen somewhere between the steering wheel and the dashboard, and refused to move.

It was Dean's idea for them to go see her; he insisted it was necessary only so that they could be certain that Liv's death hadn't been caused by nefarious forces. Sam didn't see why they couldn't wait for the funeral, which would be in three days, and didn't look forward to seeing her on the cold, metal slab of the exam table. He had witnessed enough dead bodies in his lifetime to know that it would be a traumatic experience, for both of them. But, if it had to happen, he really didn't think Dean should be present.

"I have to," Dean answered, but he didn't look up.

Sam furiously shook his head. "You _don't_ have to. You can wait here and I'll go in, by myself."

"I have to, Sam," Dean repeated. "I have to be sure."

Sam, who was already sure, didn't understand his brother's insistence on torturing himself even further. "Do you think I won't be thorough enough? That I won't really do it?"

Dean finally looked up. He turned to Sam, his expression a strange hybrid of agony and resignation. "I have to," he only said, before opening his door and stepping out.

Sam eased his long legs out of the Impala and slammed the door. He didn't want to go inside; he was certain that whoever led them to her body would see through their lame, FBI disguises and realize how truly touched they were by what they were seeing. But he couldn't stop Dean and, if he couldn't stop him, he had to at least be there.

His heavy, black Oxfords splashed through the puddles that had collected on the ground; it was drizzling, as it had been all day and most of the night before. The sky above was obscured by dark grey clouds that threatened to unleash another prolific torrent.

Dean, who had already reached the sturdy, metal door to the office, waited for Sam to catch up. Inside, Sam wrinkled his nose; the entryway smelled damp and moldy, as though the rain had found a way inside and was forming mildew in all the corners.

"Can I help you?" a woman asked from her post behind a high counter. She was an older woman, with grey hair piled on top of her head. Her voice was deep and scratchy, the voice of a life-time cigarette smoker.

Sam stepped forward, pulling his counterfeit FBI badge from the inner pocket of his jacket.

"Yes, we're looking for the medical examiner," he said, holding up the badge for her to scrutinize. "I'm Agent Banks. This is my partner, Agent Tolvert."

The woman nodded. "And you're here for…?"

Dean stepped up to the counter and cleared his throat. "We're here to examine some remains," he said. Sam heard the catch in his brother's voice but didn't think anyone else would notice; it was far too subtle.

"What's the name?" she asked in a flat and disinterested tone and pulled out a folder from below the counter. When she lifted the cover, Sam saw that it held a stack of completed death certificates.

"Tate," he said. "The last name is Tate."

The woman rifled through the documents until she found one and pulled it aside.

"Olivia Willow Tate. That sound right?"

Sam nodded.

Scanning the paper, the woman's eyebrows furrowed together. "Says here she's a suicide. Pretty cut and dry. Why's the FBI interested in a suicide?"

"That's classified," Dean interjected. Sam could hear the anger and hostility threatening to break out in his voice.

"We can't really give you much information," Sam added, in a softer tone.

The woman shrugged. "Sure, sure. None of my business. Here," she said, passing him Liv's death certificate. "Take this down to the basement level. I'll call ahead. Someone'll meet you to take you back to the morgue. There's an elevator just around the corner."

"Thanks," Sam said. They started down the hallway she had pointed toward.

"Oh, hey, fellas," she called after them. "Says she's been cleared for release to the funeral home. Should I put a stop on that 'til you finish your investigation?"

Sam shook his head. "No, that's fine. We'll let you know if anything changes."

"Suit yourself," she muttered.

Once inside the elevator, with the doors fully closed, Dean took the death certificate and scanned it earnestly.

"Manner of death - suicide… Cause of death - exsanguination attributed to acute self-inflicted lacerations on both left and right wrists, forearms, and transverse carpal arches…" he read in a quiet, hoarse voice. He dropped his arm to his side and rubbed his other hand over his mouth and chin. "She slit her wrists, Sam."

Dean crouched down and leaned back against the wall of the elevator, covering his face with his hands. The death certificate dropped and slid across the floor until it hit Sam's foot. He bent down and picked it up, unsure of what to say.

"You really don't have to do this, Dean," he finally said, quietly. In his hand, the document wrinkled and crumpled as his fist clenched around it. "I promise, I'll take care of her."

Dean shook his head and ran his palms over his eyes, though they were clear and dry. He raised himself up and adjusted the lapel of his jacket.

"No, I'm coming. I can do it."

The elevator stopped and the level indicator lit up with a large B. A ding echoed through the small space and the doors opened. On the other side, a young man in a white lab coat waited.

"You the feds?" he asked with a wide grin. Sam saw a huge wad of pink gum wedged between his teeth and cheek.

"Yeah," Sam answered, stepping out of the elevator.

"Right this way," the tech said and started down a long, narrow hallway. The walls and floor were all meant to be white, but had faded to a pale, nauseating yellow over the years. At the end of the hall, a glass door labeled 'MORGUE' was propped open by a rubber doorstop.

They followed him through the door and into a large exam room. To their right was an electric lift that Sam assumed was used to transfer larger bodies from gurneys to the metal table. To their left were three wider tables, each of them white with raised rims designed to keep fluids from dripping onto the floor. Directly ahead of them were the refrigerated drawers, a six by four grid of wide, metal cold chambers, each with its own handle. Five of them were occupied, if the clipboards attached to the doors were anything to go by.

"Edith said you're here to see Tate, yeah?" the tech called. He scanned each of the clipboards until he found one, on the top level. "How much do you need to see? Only ask 'cause she's on the top rack and if you wanna do a full examination, we'll have to bring her down."

"Bring her down," Dean said, in a dull voice.

"Well, shit!" the tech exclaimed but his tone was good-natured. He popped up the handle and tugged on the door. It released with a low _whoosh._ Pale clouds of moisture billowed out of the opening. The tech raised himself up on his toes and looked up and down the length of the slab. "Eh, she looks pretty small. Give me a hand and we won't need the lift."

Sam looked over at Dean who was staring at the floor and seemed not to hear the man.

"I'll do it," Sam said. He couldn't see her, yet; his vision was obscured by the metal door. As he approached, trying not to cringe, he was relieved to see that she was enclosed in a white, vinyl bag with a black zipper.

Sam was much taller than the tech, at least eight inches, so he positioned himself at her head. Looking down, he could see the tip of her nose pressing against the vinyl. The two of them lifted her off of the slab and carried her toward one of the exam tables. Halfway across the tiled floor, the tech stumbled and her lower body slipped from his hands.

Dean looked up, sharply, and hurried forward. "Watch it," he shouted. He bent down and gently took hold of her legs, what Sam thought must have been her ankles, and lifted them slowly.

The tech snickered and stepped out of their way. "She ain't gonna get any deader, you know?" he said, popping his gum.

Together, Sam and Dean carried her the rest of the way and gingerly lowered her onto the table. Sam watched his brother, saw the way his hands clenched into tight fists, and knew that the tech was on precarious ground.

"Dean," Sam said, in a low, warning tone. "Focus."

Dean nodded and took a step back.

The tech approached them and grabbed onto the zipper. "Here we go," he said, and pulled it down halfway before callously yanking open the bag, all the way to her hips.

Sam was frozen in place, staring down at her wasted body. His lips seemed to have been sucked dry of all moisture and his tongue was like sandpaper against the roof of his mouth. He could have sworn the temperature in the room, while already chilly, dropped another twenty degrees and he felt as though he'd been punched in the gut by a UFC champion.

Her skin was as pale as the bag around her, and tinged a watery blue in places. Mercifully, her eyes were closed but he could see a narrow gap between her eyelids. Her thick, wavy hair was damp and streaked muddy reddish orange with blood. Her freckles were still visible, but they had faded until they were nearly transparent. Her lips were slightly parted and also blood-stained. Her bones stuck out beneath her skin in ugly, jagged edges; he could count each of her ribs and her hip and shoulder bones jutted up, hard and unforgiving. It was as if there was no flesh below her skin.

She had been autopsied, as most unnatural deaths were, and while the person who had stitched her closed had done a decent enough job, the thick, black thread that traveled from both of her collarbones and met in a V between her breasts was jarring against the whiteness of her skin. The line continued down to her navel, perfectly bisecting the scars on her torso. Dean's name was divided into two separate phrases - DE on one side, AN on the other. Sam felt bile rising in his throat when he saw that the stitches were slightly off; the first half of Dean's name was approximately an inch higher than the second. Like the scars, her dandelion tattoo - the same tattoo Sam had once traced with the tip of his tongue in a moment of passion - was cleaved in two. The solid, black thread had also been used to close the wounds on her arms and wrists, wounds that traveled nearly to her elbows and were, in some places, at least eight inches long.

Sam let out a breath that he hadn't been aware he was holding in and looked over at his brother but Dean's expression was unreadable.

"Shame, right?" the tech said, staring down at her with one eyebrow cocked. "She was kinda hot. Nice tits, too, am I right?" He looked up at them, grinning cheerfully, and was immediately bowled over by Dean's substantial fist.

It took everything Sam had to pull Dean, screaming obscenities, off of the tech and hold him away, mostly because Dean was so furiously strong but also because it had been so satisfying to see his knuckles collide with that ingratiating asshole's face.

"Shit, man, what's your problem?" the tech shouted, holding the back of his hand up to his already reddening cheekbone.

" _You_ are my problem," Dean shouted, fighting against Sam's restraining arms. "And if you don't get the fuck out of here _now_ , I'll make sure you have your _own_ body bag! Do you understand me!?"

"Dean, relax! Come on, she's _right_ _there_!" Sam shouted. His voice cracked and he choked back a single sob.

The tech raced out of the exam room, glancing behind with every few steps as if he was afraid that Dean would go after him.

But it seemed that Dean had exhausted all of his energy. When he went limp, Sam released him and took a step back. His hip bumped into Liv's table, rocking her.

"He deserved it, Sammy," Dean said in a wavering voice. "You know he did."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, he did. You're right, but…"

"But, nothing. He deserved it," Dean repeated, as if trying to convince himself.

The two of them stood on either sides of the table, staring down at her. When Dean reached down, fingers shaking, Sam's heart thumped into his throat but Dean was only pulling up the zipper, covering her breasts and most of the horrid autopsy wound.

"We should go," Sam said. He knew the tech was probably filing an official complaint. More importantly, they had seen enough. He didn't know exactly what they had gone for, but they had gotten it. "Did you hear me?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah," he said. His voice was low and husky. "Yeah, let's go."

Sam raised the zipper the rest of the way, taking care not to catch her hair in its teeth. He wasn't sure what he was meant to do with the death certificate, so he left it on one of the empty counters.

They didn't check out at the front desk on their way through. Instead, they took the stairs and the back exit, coming out on a side alley. The clouds had opened up and torrential showers poured down, soaking them to the skin as they hurried around the building and across the street toward the Impala; in the sky, above them, thunder cracked and boomed, shaking the ground at their feet.

* * *

 **Three Days Later**

"Are you sure about this?" Sam asked, for the sixth time. "I want to pay my respects too but this is gonna be a disaster. We have hit the cemetery later tonight, anyway."

Dean, who had surprisingly allowed Sam to drive to the funeral home, chewed on one of his thumb nails and stared out the window. He didn't understand how his brother could ever think it was a bad idea to go to her funeral. It was _Liv_ , for Christ's sake…

"Sam, I'm not going to miss her funeral. I can't believe you're even arguing about this," Dean said. He was angry and he didn't want to suppress it anymore. He knew that Sam blamed himself for Liv's death and Dean was having trouble disagreeing. Would she have died if Sam _hadn't_ gone off the grid? Who could say for sure? But, there was a chance she would still be alive. And now he wanted them to skip out on the funeral? "And what are you talking about - going to the cemetery tonight?"

"Dean… you know what I mean," Sam said.

And, Dean did. But he wouldn't accept or allow it. Not yet, anyway.

"No, we're not doing that tonight," Dean said.

"We have to, Dean! She was new but she was a hunter and she deserves a hunter's funeral!" Sam argued.

"God dammit, Sam, we're not doing it tonight!" Dean shouted. Before Sam could continue the debate, Dean jumped out of the car and hurried toward the funeral home, buttoning his black suit jacket on the way.

Inside, he was confronted by a large, poster sized photograph of Liv on a wooden tripod. It was a younger Liv, long before he had met her. Her smile was lighter, carefree. Her eyes were bright and youthful. Perhaps most surprisingly, her hair hung straight and shiny over her shoulders. Dean stared at the photograph, motionless, until Sam stepped up behind him.

"Jesus," Sam muttered, picking up a slip of paper from a stack on one of the tables beside the mounted photo. Dean looked down and saw that it was a memory card. Liv's picture was printed at the top. Below was her name, Olivia Willow Tate, and nearing the bottom was a pair of dates separated by a hyphen. _June 6, 1982 - September 27, 2012_ ; the dates of her birth and of her death.

There was also a quote, something ludicrous about life and death and the unity of it all, but Dean didn't have the patience to read it.

He snatched the paper from Sam's hand, crumpled it up, and tossed it back onto the table.

"Let's go in before everyone else shows up," he said. He started toward the double doors beside Liv's photograph and pulled them open.

Inside, the lights were mostly dimmed. There were several rows of chairs, all empty, facing toward the front of the room where, surrounded by bouquets and arrangements of flowers, a simple, wooden casket sat on a low platform.

Side by side, they walked down the aisle until they were a few feet from the casket. It was closed but the top was clear of any flowers or other adornments. Dean assumed they would open it for the viewing. He rested a hand on the upper portion of the casket. The lightly stained wood was buffed but unpolished. It wasn't fancy or extravagant; it was something Liv would likely have chosen.

"I talked to her mother," Dean said in a soft voice. "I didn't know what Liv had told her about… you know… but I didn't want to startle her, just in case."

"What'd she say?" Sam asked.

"She was happy to hear from me. Liv told her we broke up. Didn't say why."

"You told her we were coming?"

"I said maybe," Dean said. "How do you open this thing?"

Sam's eyes widened. "You want to open it?" he asked.

Dean nodded. "Yeah."

"Why?" Sam asked, shortly.

Dean understood how crazy it sounded. Seeing her in the morgue had been bad enough, for them both, but, as horrible as it had been, it was why he needed to see her again. He didn't want his last image of her to be on the table, covered in blood with her autopsy stitches fully exposed. He should never have gone, but it was too late to erase those memories from his mind. He needed to replace them.

"Just help me," he said.

Together, they found the metal latch that unlocked the head of the casket. Dean raised it slowly, steeling himself for what he would find inside.

He needn't have worried, though. She looked better than he expected, outfitted in a beige dress with a high collar and long sleeves. Her hair was clean but, even in death, refused to be tamed. It cascaded down the sides of her arms and over her collar in wild waves. She had on far too much makeup, though. More than she ever would have worn, in life. Her hands were humbly folded across her stomach. Flowers framed her body; lilacs and daisies, mostly.

Dean felt his legs weaken and he shuffled backwards until the back of his knees came into contact one of the chairs. He dropped into the seat and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and covering his face with his hands. In the morgue, posing as FBI, it was almost like a case. He could look at her with unbiased eyes. But there, in the funeral home, surrounded by the scent of the floral arrangements with the casket in front of him, he could no longer run away from the feelings. His shoulders shook and his breath hitched as the tears finally began to flow.

"What are you doing here?" a man asked, from the doorway.

Dean looked up and barely recognized Rick Tate, Liv's father. He looked like a skeleton dressed in a dark blue suit, hunched forward in a steel wheelchair; the cancer had completely wasted his body.

"Rick," Sam said. "I'm so sorry about Liv. I… We came as soon as we heard."

"You shouldn't be here," Rick said. Dean noticed, for the first time, the anger in the man's voice.

Dean stood up turned to face Liv's father.

Sam raised his hands in a gesture of surrender and compliance. "Listen, we just came to pay our respects," he said.

"Get out of here," Rick snarled. He wheeled himself closer. His face was contorted into a grimace of pained fury. "This is your fault." He pointed one bony, crooked index finger at Dean.

"It's not his fault," Sam said, stepping in front of Dean. "It's nobody's fault."

"None of this would have happened if you'd just left her alone!" Rick shouted. Spittle flew from his lips and tears sprung from the corners of his eyes. "She didn't stand a chance after you forced your way into her life!"

"That's not fair," Sam argued but Rick interrupted him.

"What's not fair is that my baby girl is dead!" he shouted.

Dean, who felt as if all of his strength and self-control had left him, silently watched the exchange. The tears continued to stream down his cheeks.

"I'm sorry," he managed to choke out.

"I said get the hell out of here!" Rick bellowed.

Sam wrapped an arm around Dean's shoulders and guided him toward the door. Behind them, Rick dissolved into an inconsolable mess of cries and laments for his lost daughter.

"Come on, Dean," Sam murmured as they made their way toward the Impala. "Come on; let's go."

When they were both in the car, with the engine started, Dean finally looked up and over at Sam.

"He's right, you know," he said. "It _is_ my fault."


	38. Chapter 38

**What the heck…. This chapter got sooooooooooooooo long. I'm sorry! And I'm sorry for the delay! Long chapters take a long time to write and revise!**

* * *

"Are you doing okay?" Sam didn't know why he even bothered to ask. He already knew what the answer would be.

"I'm fine," Dean predictably replied, as he had every other time Sam had asked a dozen variations of the same question over the past six months.

Sam sighed. "Because you can always tell me, you know. If there's something you wanted to talk about."

Dean didn't even respond. He just nodded briskly and continued tightening the laces of his heavy, brown boots.

"I mean, if there's anything at all," Sam tried again.

"I said I'm fine," Dean growled. "Are you ready to go or are we gonna stay here all night and bullshit?"

Sam rolled his eyes but didn't say anything else, exasperated with the entire situation. Instead, he grabbed his jacket and started toward the door of the cheap motel room. Dean stormed past him, heading straight for the Impala, with his head down and his shoulders stiff.

They'd been on the case for over two weeks and still had no idea what they were after. Sam wasn't even convinced it was anything paranormal but Dean was insistent. He refused to leave until they figured it out. People were going missing, at least four of them so far, and they were no closer to finding them or the thing that was snatching them.

They had been through nearly every abandoned building and empty warehouse, the underground sewer system, and anywhere else they could think of that would be deserted on a regular basis. So far, they'd come up empty. Their last hope was the library; it was in the middle of town but Dean had gotten a tip that the enormous basement of the century old building had been left untouched for many years. If something was storing people somewhere, it was as good a place as any.

Dean parked the Impala four blocks from the entrance of the library. They gathered up a variety of weapons, not knowing what they might need, and darted into the pitch black alley that ran behind the building. They were going straight into the pit; they'd done a bit of snooping around earlier in the day and found three narrow, low windows that lead directly into the basement. Even during the day, when the alley was well lit, they had been able to see nothing in the darkness beyond the windows. At night, out of range of the tall street lamps, it was like staring into a black hole.

"Ready?" Dean asked. His voice was harder and hollow; it had been since the funeral. Sam hated that voice. It sounded like there was no joy left in Dean's body, like he was resigned to never again feeling happiness.

"Yeah, I'm ready," Sam said.

Dean wrapped his right arm in a towel that he'd stolen from their bathroom at the motel. When his wrist was tightly secured, he thrust it forward. The window shattered, sending broken shards of glass to the pavement below as well as the floor inside. Sam watched him feel around inside the frame until he found the lock. The window creaked as he pushed it open; it was the kind that swung inwards, rather than pushed up. The opening was narrow but Sam felt confident they'd both be able to squeeze through.

Sam glanced back over his shoulder, scanning the street beyond the alley for anyone who might have heard the window breaking and come to investigate.

"I'll take point," Dean muttered. Before Sam could argue, Dean launched through the window, feet first.

Sam followed and, while it was tight, he was able to slide through with only a few scrapes along his stomach. He rubbed the scratches, wishing he'd had the foresight to tuck in his undershirt first.

Broken glass crunched beneath his heavy boots as he spun around, searching the room for anything recognizable. He couldn't even see his hand in front of his face.

"Where did we put the flashlights?" he asked. A second later, he heard a loud snap and a thin beam of light broke through the darkness.

"There's only one," Dean said, holding up the flashlight with one hand. In the other, he held the long, jagged bone that had served as his weapon in Purgatory and ever since.

The light traveled across the ground but it was weak and they couldn't see much further than a few feet in front of them.

"Alright, let's go," Sam said. He fell in behind Dean as they began their sweep of the basement.

They had only gone a few steps when a soft, shuffling sound broke the silence, coming from behind them. Sam whirled around but, without the light, he saw nothing but shadows. He peered into the darkness, holding his gun out in both hands. When the sound didn't repeat, he reached behind his back and grasped Dean's arm.

"Hey, shine the light over here," he whispered.

"What?" Dean asked.

"I said shine…" but Sam stopped. Something wasn't right; something about Dean's voice or rather, where it was coming from. Sam had his fingers hooked around his brother's elbow but Dean's voice… It sounded like it was coming from much further away, at least fifteen feet and certainly not right beside him.

Sam turned his head slowly and came face to face with a species of supernatural creature he hadn't seen in years.

"Dean!" Sam shouted.

Dean sprinted toward him, holding the bone blade ready, but the weapon was knocked out of his hand and he was too slow to recover it.

Sam didn't know how it all happened; the flashlight was somehow knocked away and spun on the concrete floor, sending the beam of light in a chaotic, disjointed pinwheel that only lit up each area of the basement for a second. He could only make out flashes of the scuffle but he was too confused to protect himself, let alone Dean. An instant later, they were both pinned to the ground. The creature held them in place, its long, narrow fingers wrapping around their throats.

Sam struggled to free himself but it was no use; the darkened basement was disappearing into an even heavier, velvety blackness. His field of vision narrowed until it was no more than a tiny, tunnel. The last thing he saw was a billowy, blue flame that danced briefly before his eyes and vanished into the gloom.

* * *

Dean sat upright, his eyes wide and panicked. An alarm clock was blaring, blocking out any other sounds. He searched the room, looking for the creature that had disarmed him, but he was alone. The harsh and unforgiving tone of the alarm was disorienting. He reached for the clock, pressing random buttons and ultimately picking up and shaking the damned thing until it finally went silent. With the raucous finally quieted, he was able to survey his surroundings.

The room was large and bright. Tall, wide windows nearly filled two of the walls; sunlight spilled in through the sheer, white curtains. A wooden dresser, a tall bureau with a television on top, two side tables on either side of the enormous bed were neatly arranged throughout the room. It looked like a bedroom straight from an article from the _Country Living_ catalogue. And the bed… it was at least a king, covered in a pure white, down comforter. The pillows behind him were also down-filled and encased in matching slipcases.

There were two doors that he could see. One led to a bathroom; he could make out a shower stall, a separate bath tub, and the edge of a counter. The other door was cracked and he couldn't see much beyond it, other than a wooden staircase.

"What the…?" he mused. His neck craned left and right, taking in his surroundings and hoping that they would start to make sense. He looked down and saw that he was dressed only in a pair of grey, striped, pajama pants. " _What in the_ _hell_?"

He slowly became aware of more distant sounds, and smells, coming from the hallway outside the room. He thought he smelled bacon and coffee, and he could hear the distinct sizzle of food cooking on the stove.

Dean slowly inched out of the bed; his feet landed on a cushiony, plush carpet. His toes bumped against something soft and, when he looked down, he saw a pair of grey slippers. He slid his feet into them and shuffled across the floor toward the bureau. Beside the television, he saw his wallet, his keys, and, thankfully, his cell phone. Before he reached it, a voice rang out from down the stairs.

"Hey, June-bug! Wanna go wake up your daddy?" A muffled woman's voice. A _familiar_ woman's voice…

Light footsteps thudded up the stairs. "Okay, Mommy," a child responded. He couldn't be sure, but he thought it was a girl.

"Daddy! Mommy says it's time to get up!" The door burst open the rest of the way and Dean froze. In the doorway stood a young girl, maybe four or five years old, with a mess of curly, light blonde hair and emerald green eyes. She wore a long, yellow nightgown but her feet were bare. "Daddy?"

Dean's eyes widened and he stared at her, motionless. The way she looked at him, as if she knew him, was unnerving.

On the bureau, his cell phone rang, breaking the silence. Dean glanced down and saw that it was Sam calling. Without speaking, or even considering his actions, Dean grabbed the phone, his wallet, and the key ring. He sprinted toward the windows and saw that he was on the second floor of a large, old farmhouse. He shoved the window open and hooked a knee over the ledge, pausing only to survey the ground below. It was at least a twelve foot fall.

"Daddy?" he heard again, just before he launched himself out of the window. She sounded confused.

The grass was soft and he rolled as he landed. He was up in a flash and running toward the Impala, which was parked in the driveway.

"Sammy?" he shouted into the phone as he brought it to his ear. "Are you there?"

"Yeah, Dean, I'm here." Sam sounded as frantic and frenzied as Dean felt.

"Dude, what the _hell_ is going on?" Dean demanded. He unlocked the driver's side door and slid in behind the wheel. A second later, he was backing out of the driveway and headed down the road, away from the house. When he looked up, he saw the little girl standing by the window he'd just jumped out of, her mouth hanging open in shock.

"I dunno, man," Sam said, anxiously. "I woke up in this strange apartment that I've never been to but there's mail on the table addressed to me and my driver's license says I live here."

"Still not as weird as my morning," Dean said.

"Why? What happened?"

Dean shook his head. "A kid."

"What?!" Sam shouted. "What kid?"

"I don't know," Dean said. "Some kid. I don't even know where I am."

Ahead of him, Dean saw a gas station. He pulled in, though his tank was full, and realized he wasn't wearing a shirt. He surveyed the car and found a large, hooded sweatshirt in the backseat. His mouth dropped open when he saw an infant's car seat strapped in place. Beside it was some kind of booster chair. Unable to wrap his brain around the idea of a car seat in the Impala, he pushed it aside and slipped on the sweatshirt, reaching for his wallet. He was about to drop it into the sweatshirt's wide, front pocket when it occurred to him to check his ID, as Sam had.

"My license says I live at… 4856 White Springs Road in Jasper, Georgia…" he said into the phone. "Jasper?"

"Okay," Sam said with something close to relief. "According to my ID and mail, I live in Jasper, too. At 76 West Maple Way, Apartment 207."

Dean jumped out of the car and hurried into the gas station. The cashier, a young man with a pink Mohawk, looked up without interest.

"One sec, Sam," Dean said as he approached the counter. "Hey, man, do you know where West Maple is?" he asked the cashier.

Pink Mohawk's eyes narrowed.

"Well, yeah…" he said, slowly. The hint of a smile danced across his lips, as if he thought a joke was afoot but couldn't quite work it out. "It's like, right in town, you know?"

Dean frowned. "Which way is town?"

"Are you… Are you okay, Mr. Winchester?" the kid asked, looking utterly confused.

"Uh… Yeah, I'm fine," Dean said, while wondering how the hell the stranger knew his name. "Rough night, you know? Anyway…. Which way?"

"Yeah, sure…" the kid responded, smiling awkwardly. "It's that way," he said, pointing in the opposite direction of the house that Dean had risked his life to escape. "Maybe fifteen miles?"

"Alright, thanks," Dean said, about to step away. He paused and turned back to the cashier, though. "Hey, do you have any newspapers?" He wondered if there might be something in the news to explain his confusion and apparent loss of memory.

The cashier motioned toward a stack of papers by the door. Dean grabbed one and dropped it onto the counter. He pulled out his wallet and flipped it open, checking for cash. He found several bills and drew out two singles, offering them to the kid. Something caught his eye, though. It was tucked into one of the credit card pockets and he was sure he'd never put it there. He pulled it out and felt his heart thrum in his chest. Just like the rest of his morning, it made absolutely no sense.

The picture was of a family, one of those expensive, studio shots where someone paid extra to have the pictures taken somewhere outside, somewhere in _nature_. It was the kind of photo that generally made him sneer with distaste and derision, but not this time. Not this time because the people in the picture were mostly familiar to him. The little girl, the one from the house, was sitting on an impossibly green lawn. Beside her was another child, also a girl if the clothing was anything to go by. She was much younger, less than a year old, so it was impossible to tell for sure. The parents of the two girls sat behind them, both with wide, cheerful smiles.

"Mr. Winchester?" the kid said, holding out a handful of quarters. Dean barely heard him.

The photograph made no sense because the mother of the two girls, obviously their mother because they both had her wild, wavy hair and plethora of freckles, was Liv. And the father, from whom they had both gotten their green eyes and angled jaws, was Dean.

"Mr. Winchester?" the cashier repeated. "Do you want your change?"

"Sam," Dean said into his phone. "Sam, something really weird is going on."

He ran out of the store, forgetting both the newspaper and his cash and ignoring the cashiers protests.

"Yeah, no shit!" Sam shouted. "What the hell are we doing in Jasper, Georgia?!"

Dean shook his head. "I don't know but I think I'm about fifteen minutes from where you are. I'll be there as soon as I can, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," Sam said. "Give me a call when you get here."

Dean launched himself into the Impala and sped out of the parking lot. On the seat beside him, his phone began to ring. The tiny screen identified the caller as Liv. Somehow, even though she was dead, she was calling him. Dean scrunched his eyes shut but, when he opened them, the caller ID hadn't changed.

He decided not to answer. He needed to see Sam, first. By driving twenty miles over the speed limit, Dean found himself in the center of a small town within ten minutes. West Maple wasn't hard to find, and the apartment building was even easier to locate. It was the largest building on the block and looked like it had been a school before being converted to living spaces.

Dean scanned the apartment numbers and quickly found 207. The little slip of paper identified the resident as _Winchester, S_. Dean pushed the button and waited, shuffling his feet.

When the buzzer sounded, Dean pushed open the heavy door and took the stairs up to the second floor. The door to apartment 207 was open and Sam waited just inside. Dean slipped in and locked the door behind him.

"Sam," Dean breathed and wrapped his arms around his brother. Whatever was going on, it was an overwhelming comfort to have Sam at his side.

"Dean, what the hell is going on?" Sam asked when they had separated. "I've never been in this apartment in my life but I live here?"

"It gets weirder than that." Dean pulled out the photograph and passed it to Sam.

"That's… that's Liv!" Sam nearly shouted, his eyes opened wide. "And… you… Whose kids are those?"

Dean shrugged. "Damned if I know. But, if I was to hazard a guess, I'd have to say mine? Why else would I be in a damn picture with them?"

"Alright, let's sit down and think this through. I made coffee," Sam said. He motioned for Dean to follow him into the small kitchen. "Do you want some?"

"God, yes," Dean said. He dropped into one of the chairs at the kitchen table and rested his head in his hands. "Seriously, though, what is _happening_?"

Sam placed a mug of black coffee on the table in front of Dean and sat in another of the chairs. "I don't know. Did we stumble into an alternate dimension, or something? Did we do something to change the past?"

Dean shook his head. "You got me on that. Last thing I remember, we were gettin' our numbers called in the basement of that library. Then I woke up. That's all I got."

Sam groaned. "Yeah, me too. I woke up in the bedroom down the hall, no clue how I got there. But it's my place, that's for sure." He picked up an envelope that had been sitting on the table. It was addressed to him, from Thomas Jefferson Junior High School.

"Dude," Dean said, snatching the envelope. "Why are you getting mail from a school?"

"No clue," Sam said. "I didn't open it."

Dean ripped open the envelope and unfolded the paper inside. It was a PTA notice, a meeting announcement that mentioned the first day of the school year, and it began ' _Dear Teacher_ '.

"I think… I think you might be a teacher?" Dean said. He slid the paper across the table toward Sam.

"What?!" Sam scanned the letter, looking absolutely horrified. "What do I teach?!"

Dean had no idea. Before he could wager a guess, his cell phone rang from the pocket of his sweatshirt.

"Who's calling you?" Sam demanded.

Dean tossed the phone onto the table and reached for his coffee. He felt the warmth radiate up his hand and into his arm. It was Liv again, of course. "I don't know if I should answer it," he said. "I mean, could it really be her?"

"Uhhh… Dean?" Sam said. He was staring down at Dean's coffee mug with an amused smile. "I don't suppose you noticed that?"

"Noticed what?" Dean asked, following Sam's gaze. He saw nothing, other than his own hands cupping the mug. There was nothing remarkable about the mug; it was plain blue with white flowers painted on the ceramic.

"That," Sam said, shortly. He tapped the tip of his index finger against Dean's left hand.

Dean looked down again and finally saw it - a thin, silver colored band that circled his left, ring finger.

"Am I…." Dean began and almost couldn't finish the sentence. "Am I… _married_?"

"Can you think of any other reason you'd be wearing a wedding band?" Sam asked, sarcastically.

Dean lowered his head to the table, struggling to slow his breathing. He was feeling light-headed and desperate, out of control.

A second later, Sam's cell phone began to ring from the counter where he'd left it. Sam jumped up and grabbed the phone.

"It's Liv," he said. "I think I should answer it."

Dean nodded, without raising his head.

"Hello?" Sam said into the phone. "Oh… Hey, Liv. Uh… Yeah, he's right here. He's umm…. No, he's fine. Don't worry. I uh… I called him because I needed help with something. I'm sorry. No, he's okay, I swear."

When Sam paused, Dean looked up and eyed him, cautiously.

"Junie?" Sam said. "Oh… yeah. I'm sorry, Liv, really. Oh… yeah, sure. Here he is."

Sam held out the phone and shrugged, his expression frightened and helpless.

Dean silently cursed but took the phone, completely unsure of what to say.

"Hello?" he settled on, hoping he sounded casual because he felt as though his heart was about to leap out of his throat and do a jig on the table.

"Hey, baby," he heard her say. He would have recognized her voice anywhere, after any amount of time. It was undoubtedly her. "Are you okay? What's going on?"

"I'm okay," he said, flatly. "I just… I had to help Sam with something."

"Okay, that's great, but you scared the shit out of me and Juniper. She said you jumped out the window." She was angry, he could tell by her voice, but it was a worried anger.

Dean clenched his eyes shut and ran a hand over his mouth. "Yeah… I was… in a hurry."

"I guess," she said. Her voice softened a bit, though. "Well… Are you coming home soon?"

"Not for a couple hours," he said. He hoped that would give him enough time to sort out his thoughts.

"Are you going to work?" she asked. "Is Sam okay?"

"Yeah, he's fine. And no, I think we're both gonna take the day off." He didn't even know _where_ he worked.

"Isn't he off?" she asked, sounding confused but no longer angry. "School doesn't start back up for two more weeks. Is he working at the shop today? I thought he needed a break from it?"

Dean remembered the PTA notice and the puzzle pieces clicked together in his mind. "Yeah, you're right. Of course. But yeah, I'm taking the day off." He didn't even hazard a guess as to what she meant by 'the shop'. He'd sort that out later.

"Okay," she said. "Is it a case? Do you guys have to leave town?"

"No, baby," he said, recognizing the concern in her tone. "No case. Just moving some stuff around. I'll be home soon."

"Alright," she said. He sensed the end of the conversation approaching. "Well, I'm gonna take the girls to my mom's and then I'm going to work. Should I plan on picking them up later or will you be able to?"

"Umm… I'm not sure," he said. Sam watched from his seat at the table, his eyebrows raised. "I'll give you a call when I'm done here."

"Okay, honey. Let me know, either way."

"I will," he said.

"Love you," she said. He closed his eyes, unprepared for the wave of emotion that overcame him. "I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Okay," he choked out and cleared his throat. "I love you, too."

The phone clicked as she hung up on the other end.

"Everything okay?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Dean said. "Get dressed. We're going back to my house."

* * *

An hour later, Dean pulled the Impala back into the driveway. He was able to get a good look at the house and was pleasantly surprised. It was an old building, surrounded by several acres of tall grass beyond the well-manicured lawn. There were a few enormous trees in the yard, with a few homemade swings hanging from their branches. The house was maintained very well; the paint looked fresh and the shingles were all clean and undamaged. It was a nice house, nicer than he ever expected to own.

The front door was locked, of course, but Dean quickly found the appropriate key on his key ring. He let them in, cautiously scanning the area as they entered. His slippers slid on the hardwood floor and the smell of recently cooked breakfast lingered.

As they entered, they were confronted by Molly. She looked exactly the same as Dean remembered; she even wore a pale, pink collar. Sam and Dean both knelt before her, generously doling out head-pats and chin scratches. She allowed their affections for several minutes before apparently tiring of the entire reunion and plodded past the couch before collapsing onto an enormous dog bed beside the fire place. Grinning, Dean simply shook his head and continued further into the house.

They passed through the living room, which was tidy but cluttered with books, toys, and various other knick knacks. The kitchen, which they passed without entering, was large and spacious.

"What are we looking for?" Sam asked.

Dean shrugged. "I'm not sure. Maybe an office? Anywhere I'd keep records."

The house was large so they decided to split up. Dean found two closets, a play room, a bathroom, and a utility closet. He was about to start up the stairs when Sam called for him.

"What'd you find?"

"I don't know," Sam said, pointing at a door in a narrow, side hallway off of the kitchen. "This one's locked."

Dean pulled out his keychain and located the key he needed to open the door. The door opened into a staircase that led downward. Dean tiptoed down the stairs and met another door, also locked. A different key on his keychain opened it. When they stepped in and he snapped on the dim, overhead light, Dean knew he'd found _his_ room.

The walls were covered with bulletins and cork boards. There were two gun cabinets, both locked. Swords and knives were mounted on the walls beside various newspaper clippings and photographs. There was a chest that held bottles of holy water and silver crosses. Beside it, a small table was cluttered with no less than fifteen telephones, each clearly labeled with its assigned government division. The large, wooden desk was covered with papers and maps. Practically every space was occupied by hunter paraphernalia. The room was an arsenal, filled with anything and everything a hunter might need. And tucked into one corner was a tall filing cabinet.

"Holy shit, Dean…" Sam whispered, his gaze traveling around the room.

"Seriously," Dean agreed. He hurried over to the cabinet and pulled open the top drawer. "Help me go through this thing," he said.

The cabinet was filled with files. It looked like he had kept everything he had gathered on each case they'd worked for the past several years. His record keeping was immaculate. But the bottom drawer was filled with paperwork and documents that had nothing to do with hunting.

"Look at this," Sam said. He held up a folder that was labeled _Winchester, J_. "And here's another one." The next said _Winchester, S_.

The _Winchester, J._ file contained several documents - medical records, vaccinations, tax records and, tucked in the pile, a birth certificate. The name on the certificate was Juniper Mary Winchester. Her parents were identified as Olivia Willow Winchester and Dean Winchester. Dean opened the _Winchester, S._ folder, already sure he knew what it contained and found a nearly identical birth certificate, though the name of the infant was Samantha Maenalus Winchester. He had two children - two daughters - with Liv.

"Here," Sam said. "I found this, too,"

Dean took the document and scanned it, fervently. It was a marriage certificate - _his_ marriage certificate. He and Liv had been wed on June 17th, 2012 in Macon, Georgia. Their first daughter had been born in May of the following year; their second in January of 2015.

"Goddamn, Sammy… We really missed a lot," Dean said in a weak, breathless voice.

Sam chuckled, looking down at the documents in Dean's hand. "Dude, you named your daughter _Samantha_."

Dean frowned. "I'm pretty sure I had nothing to do with that," he grumbled, staring incredulously at the papers and shaking his head. "Juniper? Maenalus? What the hell kind of names are those?"

"Juniper is a kind of tree," Sam answered, immediately. "And I think Maenalus might be a constellation? Not a very popular one, though."

Dean interrupted him. "Listen, let's get out of here before I have a stroke from information overload. And, on top of that, I still gotta figure out where I work, where I'm supposed to pick up the girls, what the hell to do next…"

"I think I can help with at least one of those," Sam said. He pointed at a calendar on the wall, behind the desk.

The calendar was an advertisement for a business, also located in Jasper. The business was, interestingly, a mechanical shop called Winchester's Classics.

Dean hurried toward it and pulled it off of the wall. The monthly photographs were all of classic cars, hotrods, and antiques. The front cover of the calendar was a picture of Dean, smiling proudly, with his arm around Sam, who also looked overjoyed. They were leaning back against the Impala in front of the building; an enormous sign with the business name glowed brightly in vibrant colors. Behind them, the shop bustled with activity.

"We own a shop," Dean said, in a dazed voice. "A shop just for classic cars."

"Yeah, no wonder I teach on the side," Sam said, laughing.

" _The shop!"_ Dean shouted, realization flooding his brain. "That's what she meant - we own a shop but I run it!"

"Makes sense," Sam nodded. "I never really did love working on cars like you do."

"Alright," Dean said, starting toward the stairs. "I need to get dressed. Let's go check out the upstairs."

The two of them made their way back up, through the kitchen, and toward the wide, wooden staircase that led to the second floor. Dean traipsed up the stairs, his eyes on the wall where several professional looking photographs were mounted in fancy, wooden frames. In one, he was holding the baby over his head; the older girl, Juniper, stood beside him with her arms locked around one of his legs. All three were smiling, practically maniacally. In another, Liv was holding both girls in her lap while they sat on the porch swing he'd seen out front. The rest of the photographs were of the two girls in various classic and increasingly adorable poses.

Dean was astounded by how much the older girl resembled him.

At the top of the stairs, Dean meandered through the hallways. He passed a bedroom that held a crib, a changing table, a dresser, and an antique rocking chair. All of the furniture was white and the walls were painted a pale pink.

The next bedroom was filled to the brim with an art table, many overflowing bookshelves, a twin bed, and more toys that Dean had ever seen in his life. It had to be Juniper's room and, apparently, she'd been allowed to choose the theme. The walls were purple and red; some had alternating polka dots, others were dramatic stripes. Her bedspread was an explosion of color; it literally was a pattern that resembled splashes of paint hurled at a white canvas. The bookshelves were all filled and not just with books; figurines, rocks, dead bugs, anything and everything the girl had taken a liking to, it seemed.

Dean paused outside the door, his eye caught by something stuffed into the mirror of the purple vanity table. He stepped closer and smiled when he saw it was a photo of himself, swinging the girl around. He remembered the game; his father had done the same thing with him, before his mother had been killed. In the photo, both he and the girl were laughing.

"Dean?" Sam said, from the hallway. "Are you getting dressed?"

Dean nodded and hurried out of the room.

"Yep."

He found the bedroom he'd woken in a bit further down the hall, past a bathroom and a linen closet. The room hadn't changed, though the bed was made and the window had been closed. Dean went through several drawers before he found one that contained a pile of his jeans. Another held t-shirts and yet another was filled with boxers and socks. He was used to pulling clothes from a duffel bag, sniffing each garment for cleanliness. Every article he lifted from the drawers smelled fresh and recently washed.

In the enormous, walk-in closet, he found dozens of flannel and denim work shirts hanging in neat rows. He pulled one from a hanger and added it to his pile. He carried the ball of clothes into the bathroom and shook his head, disbelieving. The shower had multiple heads coming from all four directions. The bathtub was more like a hot tub, with room for at least two. The toilet was tucked into a little closet with its own door. He'd never seen a bathroom like it. With an awestruck sigh he twisted the knob in the shower, slipped out of his pajama pants and sweatshirt, and stepped beneath the hot, revitalizing steam.

* * *

When Dean returned to the kitchen, showered and dressed, Sam was holding a photo album and shaking his head. Molly sat at his feet with her head resting on her front paws. Dean sensed that her preference for Sam had most likely followed them into whatever universe they'd found themselves.

"What'd you find?" Dean asked. He smelled fresh coffee and saw that Sam had made a pot while he was getting ready. He opened the cabinets until he found one filled with mugs and poured himself a cup.

"Nothing, really," Sam mused. "Just pictures. You and Liv, the girls, even _I'm_ in a bunch of them."

Dean leaned back against the counter and nodded. Beside him, the refrigerator was decorated with drawings that had obviously been done by a child.

"Well…" he said. "What now?"

Sam shook his head. Before he came up with an answer, his cell phone began to ring. He pulled it out and frowned.

"What?" Dean asked. "Who is it?"

Sam held up the phone. The caller ID read _Erin_.

"Who's Erin?" Sam asked, setting the phone down on the table. It continued to ring but neither of them answered. A few minutes later, it dinged once to indicate a new message.

Sam set the phone to speaker volume and played the message.

" _Hey, baby_ ," a woman said, in a sultry tone. " _Just calling to make sure we're still on for dinner tonight at your brother's. Give me a call… You should plan on just coming back to my place, after. I've been missing you and your big, thick -._ "

Sam grabbed the phone and abruptly ended the message, his eyes wide and alarmed.

Dean laughed. "I guess Erin's your lady-friend," he said, highly amused. "Figured there had to be at least one somewhere."

"Should I call her back?" Sam asked. Dean thought he sounded a little bit scared. "I mean, we're having dinner tonight. Isn't it rude not to?"

Dean shrugged. He was definitely interested in meeting Erin. "Go for it, Fabio. I gotta figure out where to pick up those rugrats."

Sam nodded, smiling awkwardly, and picked up the phone. Dean could hear the faint ringing as he stepped into the living room.

Finding Liv's mother's house was easier than he expected. There was a telephone on the table in the foyer and, in one of the drawers, there was an address book. He remembered the last name from when he met Liv's parents. Anne and Gary Carrigan also lived in Jasper on Maple Valley Road. Using a map he found in another drawer, he memorized the route to their home and estimated it at no more than twenty minutes away. By the time he had the drive planned and had settled into place behind the Impala's steering wheel, Sam was on his way out.

"How's Erin?" Dean teased as he started up the engine.

Sam blushed. "She's good… Sounds pretty excited about tonight. I guess she's been here before. She'll be here around six."

"Great," Dean said, smiling. "Looking forward to it."

The drive to the Carrigan's house was uneventful. There were no alarming phone calls, no new discoveries. When they pulled into the wide driveway, Dean immediately recognized the home. He'd been there before.

They stepped out of the car and headed up the walkway, toward the entrance, but they'd only gone a few feet when the front door slammed open and a tiny, colorful ball of energy flew out.

"Daddy!" Dean heard her scream. An instant later, she had jumped into his arms and wrapped her body around his. "Hi, Daddy!" she shrieked into his ear which rang with the echo of her enthusiasm.

Dean almost froze, again. She held onto him with a vice grip, in no danger of falling, but he still slipped an arm around her miniature waist, securing her against him. She pulled back, grinning with happy excitement. He saw her eyes, bright and brilliant green, her pale, blonde hair which fell in delicate tendrils around her face, and her angled nose. She was a perfect compilation of himself and Liv, with a dash of his mother thrown in. She was beautiful, with the sweetest angel face he'd ever seen.

"Hey, baby," he said, softly.

She wriggled out of his grasp and ran to Sam's side, flinging her arms around one of his legs.

"Hi, uncle Sam!" she exclaimed.

"Hey, Junie," Sam replied, wearing an odd, dazed kind of smile.

"What are you doing here?" she asked. Her voice was clear and melodic. She reached up and pushed a strand of hair from her face with the back of her right hand.

"Oh, you know… Just hanging out with your dad," he said.

"Hey, guys!" Anne Carrigan said as she stepped through the doorway, carrying the baby.

"Daaaaaa!" the younger girl squealed, holding out her arms for Dean. "Daaa daaaaa!"

"I think she missed you," Anne said, laughing. She passed the baby to him and stepped back with her hands on her hips. "You guys wanna come in for some coffee?"

Dean stared down at the baby in his arms. His tongue felt like it had been glued to the roof of his mouth. She was a miniature version of Juniper although several of her teeth had apparently not yet grown in and her hair was significantly shorter. Again, he saw himself, Liv, and his mother in every tiny feature.

"Uhh... No, thanks, though!" Sam said. "We gotta get going."

"You sure?" Anne asked. "It's already made."

Dean finally tore his gaze away from his youngest daughter's face and shook his head. "No, really. Thanks, though. We're having dinner with Sam's girlfriend tonight and we have some stuff to do first."

Anne smiled at them and nodded. "Alright, then. Junie, come on and get your shoes. Your daddy can get Mae buckled while you gather your things and your sister's diaper bag."

While Anne ushered Juniper back into the house, Dean carried the baby to the Impala and stared down at the car seat in the back. Sam followed behind and pulled open the door.

"Do you have any idea how to do this?" Dean asked. He had literally never fastened an infant into a car seat and was suddenly filled with an overwhelming sense of worry and concern for the safety of the child he carried in his arms.

"No…" Sam said, frowning. "Can't be too hard though, right? Let me try." He reached for the baby, who was sticking an index finger up her father's left nostril.

Dean looked at the baby, then at Sam with narrowed eyes.

"If you hurt my baby, I'll punch you in the dick," he said, sternly, before passing her over.

Sam's eyebrows raised but he gathered her against his chest and bent down to lower her into the seat.

The car seat was a jumble of buckles and levers and a wide, cushioned bar that seemed intended to lower over her face. She sat there patiently, watching them fidget and fiddle with the device until Sam thought it was correctly in place.

"Are you sure that's right?" Dean asked in a strained, nervous tone. It didn't look right to him, with two of the straps on either side of her neck. "Those belts won't strangle her?"

Sam shook his head. "No, I'm pretty sure it's right. They're supposed to keep her… you know… from flying out."

"Does that happen?!" Dean asked, anxiously.

Sam held his hands up and chewed on his lower lip.

They both jumped when the other back door popped open and Juniper hopped inside. She dropped herself onto the booster seat and reached for her seatbelt. Dean watched her expertly guide it into the buckle and adjust the strap across her chest. When she was finished, she sat back and stared at him, kicking her feet and tapping her fingers on her knees.

"Hey, Junie?" Sam said. She looked up at him with wide eyes. "Does uh… Does Samantha's car seat look right?"

Juniper wrinkled her nose and raised one eyebrow in a comical replica of one of Dean's most commonly used expressions.

"You mean Mae?"

Dean nodded, quickly. Mae sounded much better than Samantha, in his opinion. Better than Maenalus too, he decided, which reminded him of mayonnaise. Clearly, Liv had chosen their names. "Yeah, yeah, Mae's car seat," he said, addressing Juniper. "Does it look right?"

She turned to look at her sister's seat and reached over to tug at one of the straps. "Yeah, looks good to me," she said, shrugging.

"Alright," Dean said, clapping his hands together. "Let's blow this popsicle stand."

Juniper giggled in response but didn't say anything. She picked up a coloring book she'd brought from inside and started paging through the pictures.

It took about three times as long to get back to the house as it had taken to get to their previous destination, mostly because Dean refused to drive faster than twenty miles per hour. He knew he was being overly cautious; at one point, even Juniper asked if something was wrong with the car. Dean shook his head and laughed heartily but didn't increase the speed.

"Dean, the speed limit is forty," Sam mumbled.

"Listen, when you drive, you can go as fast as you want," Dean barked. "Unless my kids are with you in which case, you'll go twenty. Actually, never mind, you're not allowed to drive them anywhere. Ever."

Sam scoffed, Juniper snickered, and the baby sneezed.

By the time they got back to the house, both of the girls had fallen asleep. Dean was amused to find that Juniper's snores sounded exactly like Liv's. The baby snorted through a pacifier that Anne had clipped to her t-shirt.

Getting Mae out of her seat was almost as difficult as getting her in. Dean was relieved to realize how incredibly secure she had been, even if they didn't know exactly what they were doing. His faith in the infant car seat industry sky rocketed. Unfortunately, it meant that she was awake, and screaming, by the time he had freed her from the contraption.

While Sam carried Juniper into the living room and laid her on the couch, Dean bounced the baby up and down in his arms, trying to sooth her. He offered her the pacifier but she spit it out, clearly outraged. Her little face was bright red and her eyes were overflowing with frustrated tears.

"What's wrong with her?!" Sam asked, frantically. "Why is she crying?"

"I don't know!" Dean shouted, which only made her cries even louder and more intense. He tried to shush her in a soothing, calming manner but she only screamed more piercingly.

"Maybe she's hungry," Sam offered. He ran to the pantry in the kitchen and came back with a jar of baby food, peaches it looked like, and a tiny spoon. He tried scooping a bite into her wailing mouth but the monumental shriek of outrage convinced Dean that it wasn't hunger that fueled her cries.

"Maybe… Maybe she's cold?" Dean asked. It was unlikely; the temperature inside the house was mild and comfortable.

"She's not cold, you moron," Sam snapped. He was angry, and frustrated, but Dean forgave him.

"Is something pinching her?" Dean asked. He held her a bit away from his body, searching for any sign of injury or wound. She looked fine, though, other than her bright pink face and clenched fists.

Sam suddenly snapped his fingers and ran out of the house, toward the Impala.

"Sammy, wait! Don't leave us like this!" Dean called after him. He felt helpless and insignificant. What kind of father was he, letting his baby scream like a banshee for so long?

Sam flew back into the house carrying the diaper bag. "Here, I bet she needs her diaper changed!" he shouted. The bag swung back and forth around his arm.

"Okay…" Dean said, tentatively. "How?"

Sam took the baby from Dean's arms and set her down on the floor, laying her onto her back. He tugged on her navy blue leggings, pulling them off and setting them aside, before unsnapping the onesie she wore beneath her shirt.

"Hey, hey, what are you doing?!" Dean asked, shoving Sam away and bending down to shield the baby. "Why are you taking her clothes off?"

Sam looked up at him with an impatient and irritated expression. "How the hell else are we gonna change her diaper?!" he demanded.

Dean opened his mouth to argue but couldn't come up with a suitable counter point. Sam was right.

"Fine, fine," he growled and dropped to his knees beside them.

Her diaper was soaking wet but the second Sam pulled it away and replaced it with a clean, fresh one, her cries subsided. It took the two of them several minutes to attach the tabs in a way that kept the diaper from falling off without being too tight but they congratulated each other on their success when she was finally fully dressed and sitting up on the carpet.

She found her pacifier, still attached to her shirt, and held her arms up at Dean. He bent down to lift her up and, astoundingly, she laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. Within minutes, she was fast asleep.

"This is exhausting," Dean said. He lay back on the floor and grabbed a pillow from one of the armchairs. He stuffed it behind his head, settled the baby into the crook of his elbow, and closed his eyes.

* * *

Sam watched Dean nap on the living room floor with Mae nestled on his chest. Beside them, on the couch, Juniper continued to snore softly and rubbed her toes together in her sleep, just as Liv had always done.

The clock on the microwave, above the stove, read 4:28PM. He didn't know what time to expect Liv but he was nervous about the reunion. The last time he'd seen her she was dead - a corpse on an examination table in a morgue, covered in scars and stitched wounds. Not only that, he didn't know how much of their past he should acknowledge.

He'd never told Dean about what happened that week after Liv came back to the cabin. With her dead, it didn't seem important and would only drive a wedge between their already fragile relationship. The time he'd spent with her had been incredible, but it was private and Dean not knowing seemed safest. So, he'd kept it to himself. But, when she got home, would it stay between them? Or had it even happened? The world in which they were living was different… Clearly, their timeline had changed and Liv hadn't died. Did that mean they'd never spent that week together, alone, in the cabin?

He was still pondering what to do when a car pulled up in the driveway. Sam, who had been sitting in one of the worn, leather armchairs with a magazine in his lap, jumped up and tugged open the blinds to see who had arrived.

It wasn't Liv, of that he was sure. The woman who stepped out of the shiny, new Mercedes was tall, far taller than Liv, with long, straight, red hair and dark green eyes. Her creamy, pale skin was entirely unblemished and her long body was fuller and more plentiful. Dressed in a simple, black, wraparound dress she was stunning, every part of her.

Her knock on the front door was light but assertive. When Dean didn't stir, Sam stepped toward the door, ran his fingers through his hair, and pulled it open. Her smile was immediate.

"Hey, there," she said. He recognized her voice from the voicemail and their earlier call. This was Erin and, apparently, she _was_ his girlfriend.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, not much of a reach for her generous height, and pulled him close. Understanding what was expected of him, Sam returned the embrace. His arms circled her waist and, when she kissed him, he tasted cinnamon on her breath.

"Hey," he replied, once they'd separated. He didn't have to force or fake the pleased smile that stretched across his face.

"Where's Dean?" she asked as she stepped into the foyer. She dropped her bag on the table and kicked off her shoes. Clearly, she was comfortable in Dean's and Liv's home. Without the elegant, black pumps, her height dropped but only a few inches.

Sam pointed into the living room, where Dean and the girls were still snoring in tandem.

"They've been sleeping for almost two hours," Sam said, consulting the watch on his right wrist.

Erin snickered. "Oh, I'm sure Liv'll love that when she's trying to get baby Mae to sleep tonight."

Sam frowned. "Maybe I should wake them…" he said.

She shrugged. "Nah, Liv left just after I did. She'll be here any sec."

He realized that, wherever Erin worked, Liv worked their too. Seconds after the comprehension, another vehicle pulled into the driveway. Sam peeked out the window and saw that it was a Jeep, but not the one Liv used to drive. It was newer, shinier, and in much better shape - the kind of vehicle a successful business man's wife might drive.

Liv hopped out of the Jeep hurried to the door. Sam saw that she wore a black dress, as well. Simple, sophisticated, and a slightly different style than Erin's.

"There she is," he said as the door opened.

* * *

Dean woke slowly to the sounds of laughter and animated talking, rather than the obnoxious blaring of an alarm clock. The warm, comfortable weight of the baby on his chest was gone. He had a second of confusion, and then of absolute certainty that he had dreamed everything, before her heard Juniper hooting cheerfully. It hadn't been a dream. It was real.

He sat up and stretched his stiff neck; the carpet was soft and plush but he'd been lying in an awkward position. He stood up and raised his arms above his head, reaching skyward.

The sounds were coming from the kitchen. Dean heard Sam laughing, raucously, along with a woman. He heard Juniper and even the baby, chattering away.

He rounded the corner that led to the dining room and the attached kitchen. The first thing he saw was his brother, sitting at the marble topped island in the middle of the spacious kitchen. Sam was smiling like Dean hadn't seen him smile in months, maybe years. Beside him was a striking redhead who had her elbow hooked around Sam's arm. Bottles of beer sat on the counter before each of them.

Juniper was sitting at the dining room table and, beside her, Mae sat in a high chair. The girls were munching on pieces of cheese and round crackers. They both saw him at the same time and his heart nearly exploded as their faces erupted into wide grins of happiness. Had anyone ever before been so filled with joy at just seeing him enter a room? He didn't think so.

An instant later, he saw Liv. She was bustling around the kitchen, flitting from the stove to the refrigerator to the counter, holding a spatula in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. His heart, which had been so full and jubilant, nearly stopped in his chest.

She looked more alive than he'd ever seen her; her eyes and complexion were bright and flourishing. Her wild hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail and she was wearing a pair of old, worn jeans and his Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt.

"Hey, baby!" she said, dropping the utensil and wine on the counter. She rushed toward him and hurled herself into his arms. "You finally woke up."

Dean stared down at her, unable to speak for several seconds. Her light brown eyes stared up at him, expectantly, as she waited for him to respond.

"Yeah…" he finally said. "I was pretty tired."

She smiled, satisfied by his reply. He pulled her in close and buried his face against the top of her head, breathing in the familiar scent of her hair and skin.

She turned her face up to him and pulled him down for a long, lazy kiss.

"Yeah, well, you get to put the girls to bed, tonight," she teased before stepping away and returning to the stove.

Dean saw the pots, the boiling water, and the pot of red sauce bubbling on the stove. She was cooking dinner, of course.

"No problem," he answered, settling into a chair beside Juniper. He reached up and tickled the soft patch of skin behind her right ear and grinned at her laughter. A second later, Liv placed a bottle of ice-cold beer in front of him and ran her fingers through his hair, lightly massaging his scalp.

"Wanna set the table?" she asked with a good-natured smile.

"Oh, hey, I can do that!" Erin said. She jumped out of the stool she'd been sitting in and hurried to the cabinet beside the refrigerator.

Dean watched as she plucked open the correct cabinet and pulled out a stack of plates. Erin clearly had been to their home before, probably several times. She was familiar with it. It appeared that Sam had been seeing her for a very long time.

His suspicions were confirmed over dinner when Juniper innocently asked when Sam and Erin were going to get married. With a series of halfway rhetoric questions that, by some miracle, didn't make the conversation _too_ awkward, Dean learned that Erin and Sam had been dating for almost a year and that Liv had introduced them. Apparently, the two women worked at the same funeral home.

Dean was eternally grateful for his daughter's quizzical nature and thought Sam likely was, as well. He met Sam's gaze several times throughout the meal as they learned new, unfamiliar aspects of their past.

At the end of the night, Dean was shocked by how much fun he'd had and by how quickly the time had passed. Despite their nap, Mae and Juniper were both yawning and rubbing their red-rimmed eyes by 9:30. Erin tactfully suggested her and Sam head out so that the girls could go to sleep but Dean, remembering her voicemail from earlier, suspected ulterior motives.

"Thanks for dinner, Liv!" Erin shouted as they all flocked toward the door.

The two women hugged goodbye but Dean only nodded and waved; his arms were filled with a sleeping baby Mae. Juniper wavered beside him, her eyes barely opened.

"So, I'll uh… I'll call you tomorrow," Sam said. He sounded… not nervous, exactly, but definitely excited.

Dean snickered. "Not too early, Sammy." Sam grinned and slipped out the door.

"Alright, you take her up. I'll get this one," Liv said after Sam and Erin driven away, her hands on Juniper's shoulders.

Mae was easy to put to bed. Her pajamas were in the top drawer of the white bureau in her room. Dean gently eased her into them, marveling over her flawless skin and finally understanding what people meant when they used the phrase 'baby-soft'. He spent at least two minutes staring at her chubby thigh-rolls and wondering how anything could be so perfectly adorable. He changed her diaper again, getting the sticky tabs right on the first try. When he had settled her into her crib without waking her, he was filled with an irrational pride. He'd changed her, dressed her, and put her to bed, all on his own. It was an incredible feeling.

He left the baby's room, leaving the door open, and was heading toward the bedroom he shared with Liv when he heard her speaking, softly. The door to Juniper's room was also open and Dean could just make out the conversation the two were having.

"Are there really bad things in the dark?" Juniper asked. Her voice was small and timid, as if she was afraid of what the answer might be.

"Sometimes there are, June-bug," Liv answered.

Dean peeked into the room and saw Juniper in bed with the covers drawn up to her chin. Liv lay beside her with an arm around the girl's shoulders.

"Like monsters?"

Liv didn't answer right away and Dean could understand her hesitation. He didn't think lying was ever the best policy but Juniper was too young. Then again, Dean had known about the existence of monsters since his mother died when he was four years old.

"Yes," Liv finally answered. "Sometimes there are monsters. But you know what?"

"What?" Juniper said, sounding even smaller.

"You don't have to worry about the monsters."

"Why not?" the girl said, her voice barely a whisper. Dean stepped closer, pressing his ear against the door.

"Because you have the bravest, strongest, smartest daddy in the whole world," Liv said. "And he'll never, ever let anything hurt you, or me, or Mae. You know that, don't you?"

"I know."

"Good," Liv said, and Dean could hear the smile in her tone. "Now, it's time to go to sleep, okay?"

"Okay, Mommy," Juniper answered.

Before Liv could leave the room, and see him eavesdropping, Dean ducked into the bathroom and closed the door. His feelings of pride and self-worth had plummeted through the well-preserved, hard wood floor and been replaced by unsurmountable fear and self-doubt. He was happy that Liv had so much faith in him, happy that she believed without a doubt that he could protect them, and he knew that he would do everything he could to keep them safe. He knew that he would die for any of them, to defend them. And he knew that, sometimes, even that wasn't enough.

* * *

Dean didn't see his brother the following day, or get the call that Sam had promised until much later. He wasn't concerned, though. He was more than convinced that Sam was perfectly safe and was simply distracted by Erin's feminine wiles.

He spent the entire day with his family. The four of them slept in late, late by Dean's standards, anyway. It was almost eight o'clock when Dean slipped out of the enormous bed, carefully extracting his arm from beneath Liv's sleeping, nude form. He stared down at her, still rocked by the fact that he'd somehow spent the night with her, made love to her… that he was _married_ to her. All through the night, he expected something to happen, some lightning flash that would carry him back to reality. It never came, but he just couldn't relax. Each time he let himself get comfortable, he would look at her or she would make some noise in her sleep and he would once again be left dumbstruck and disbelieving.

Twice in the night, Dean got up to check on the girls. They both slept soundly, without waking even once, but he had to see them. The second time, Liv woke and pulled him back into the bed, forbidding him from leaving before morning. He dubiously agreed but listened intently for any unwelcome intonation until he finally drifted off to sleep.

Since he was the first awake, he decided to make breakfast. Liv had about a million cook books stacked haphazardly on one of the shelves in the kitchen. He plucked one from the stack and scanned its contents. He settled on pancakes; they seemed easy enough with just a few ingredients. After checking the fridge and cupboards, he found everything he needed and got to work.

Thirty minutes later, and at least fifteen bowls, Liv, carrying Mae traipsed down the stairs and into the kitchen with Juniper at her heels.

"Morning!" Dean shouted, cheerfully. "Who's hungry?"

"Me!" Juniper screeched.

The pancakes were, miraculously, perfect. Liv scrambled a bunch of eggs and Juniper hefted a jug of orange juice onto the table. By the end of the meal, Mae's face was covered in syrup and smashed strawberries and they were all stuffed.

Because it was Saturday, no one had to work. Instead, Liv gathered up a picnic lunch for later and suggested they spend the afternoon outside. Juniper insisted on packing up her bug collecting equipment, which consisted of a net with a long handle, a bug identifying book, a notepad, markers, and, inexplicably, a plastic colander. Liv strapped Mae into a carrier on Dean's back and they headed out into the vast, back field.

It was a strange day, the kind of day Dean never expected to experience. Liv laid out a large quilt just before the tree line and sat with the baby while Dean and Juniper cavorted through the field, searching for critters to document.

Juniper was adamant that they not disturb any living creatures; if she found one, she drew a somewhat accurate picture of it in her notepad and asked Dean to help her identify it. If they found a bug that was already deceased, she carefully placed it in the colander to take home. Dean was astounded by her empathy; even a bug's life was valuable and worthy of her respect.

They ate lunch on the quilt while Juniper went through her notepad, pointing out her favorite bugs. At some point, Mae fell asleep in her mother's arms and Liv decided it was time to head home. The last five minutes of their trek through the field was spattered with giant raindrops. It was pouring by the time they sprinted up the driveway.

Dean helped Juniper find homes for the newest additions to her collection while Liv changed Mae and herself into dry clothes.

"You're almost out of room on your shelf," Dean mused. Juniper frowned and nudged a tiny ladybug into place beside several others. "Maybe I can make you a new one?"

"You can make it?" she asked, wide-eyed.

Dean nodded. "Sure. I can even put a glass cover on the front to keep them safe. Whatcha think?"

She grinned up at him and wrapped her arms around his waist. "Thanks, Daddy," she said, her voice muffled against his flannel shirt.

Not for the first time, Dean felt warm tears pool in the outer corners of his eyes.

"Who wants pizza?" Liv called from the bottom of the stairs.

"Pizza!" Juniper screamed and flew out of the room. Dean watched her go, wiping his eyes with the palms of his hands, and chuckled to himself.

Later that night, pizza consumed and children bathed, the four of them sat in the living room watching a movie about a lost fish and his neurotic father. Dean wasn't really one for cartoons but, when the pair was reunited, he found himself discreetly clearing his throat and wiping away a few drops of mysterious moisture from his cheeks.

"You okay?" Liv asked, snickering.

Dean furrowed his eyebrows together and shrugged. "Yeah, totally fine. Just uh… you know, all the grass outside. Must be allergies or something."

"Yeah, sure," she answered, poking him in the ribs.

"Hey, Mommy!" Juniper shouted. She hurried over to the television and turned it off. "Can we?"

Liv rolled her eyes and let out a dramatic sigh.

"Pleeeeeaaaaase?" Juniper pleaded. Dean had no idea what she was talking about.

"Oh, I suppose so," Liv said in a staged, exasperated tone.

"Yes! Pajama pants dance party!" Juniper jumped up and down, flinging her arms into the air. She dashed over to the stereo and expertly pressed a few buttons. An instant later, loud, energetic pop music erupted from the speakers. "Daddy, go put on your pajama pants! It's the rules!" All three were already dressed in their pajamas, though Dean didn't exactly consider the meager, cotton shorts Liv wore to be 'pants'.

Confused, but willing to comply, Dean hurried up the stairs and changed into a pair of knit pajama pants and a plain, blue t-shirt. When he reentered the living room, Juniper was frolicking around the room, dancing wildly. Liv was holding Mae, jostling the baby up and down in rhythm with the music. All three were laughing, boisterously.

"What are we listening to?" Dean demanded. "This is awful!"

Juniper rolled her eyes and continued dancing. "It's Taylor Swift, Dad. Duh!"

"Duh, _Dad_!" Liv mimicked her, grinning conspiratorially at him. "Dance with your daughter."

He tried but his moves had never been particularly skillful or smooth. Juniper didn't seem to mind, though. She wasn't exactly graceful, either. Dancing with her consisted mostly of holding her hands and flinging her around while she giggled. Each time a new song came on, Dean hoped for some Allman Brothers or Zeppelin but it was always some unknown, young, modern performer.

After several, ear piercing songs passed, Dean heard his cell phone ringing from the kitchen. He excused himself and ran to answer it. It was Sam, of course.

"Where've you been?" Dean asked.

Sam sounded out of breath but decidedly happy. "I'm exhausted," he said. "Erin is incredible and funny and gorgeous and completely insatiable. I think we ate lunch at one point but I can't be sure. I might be dehydrated."

"Dude… Gross."

Sam laughed. "She's still here; I think she's ordering Chinese food or something. What's that sound? Is that Miley Cyrus?"

Dean scowled. "No!"

"Yes, it is. That's Miley Cyrus. What the hell is going on over there?"

Dean let out a sigh, resigned to honesty. "It's a pajama pants dance party. Juniper picks the music."

"You're letting her pick the music?" Sam asked in a disbelieving tone.

"It's the rules!" Dean insisted. What else could he say? Rules were rules.

"Right…" Sam said, slowly. "Well, listen, I gotta go but I just wanted to check on you. Should I come by tomorrow?"

"Yeah, yeah," Dean said. "We have a _lot_ to figure out."

Sam hung up without saying goodbye but Dean thought he heard Erin in the background. He chuckled to himself, heading back to the living room, and stopped in the doorway as a new song came on the stereo.

Modern pop had been replaced by classic rock. Journey's _Faithfully,_ the ultimate ballad _,_ flowed out of the speakers.

Juniper approached him, taking his hand, and gently pulled him to Liv.

"It's Mommy's turn to dance with you," she said.

Liv settled Mae onto the floor and Juniper sat beside her with her legs crossed. She grinned up at her parents as Dean pulled Liv into his arms, the two of the swaying slowly along with the music.

It wasn't the first time Dean and Liv had danced to the song; it had unofficially become _their_ song at some point while he and Sam were away on some unremarkable case. He couldn't remember exactly when, only that she played it at practically every bar they visited together and insisted he join her on the dance floor.

Liv rested her head on his chest and slipped her arms around his neck. He hunched forward, just enough that she didn't have to stand on the tips of her toes to reach, and wrapped his arms around her waist. Her hair, which was threatening to escape from the untidy bun on the top of her head, tickled his jaw. The familiar scent of lavender swept over him. He found himself wondering, for the millionth time, what strange magic had brought her back to him and feeling nothing but overwhelming gratitude. Was it magic? Was it a gift from someone or something, his reward for saving the earth? Whatever it was, he was eternally thankful.

When the song ended, Dean looked down and saw that Juniper had fallen asleep with her head tilted back against the couch and her mouth hanging open. Mae was still awake, fiddling with a small, stuffed cat, but her eyelids were heavy and, as he watched, her mouth dropped open into a wide yawn.

"We should get them to bed," he whispered against Liv's ear.

Dean carried Juniper to her bedroom, while Liv carried Mae, and tucked her in beneath the absurdly colorful blanket. She woke up just long enough to kiss him on his scruffy cheek.

"Night, June-bug," he whispered. "Love you." He was only mildly surprised to realize he meant it, absolutely and unconditionally.

"Love you, too, Daddy," she murmured and then she was out, again.

He passed by Mae's room on his way to bed and saw that she had already fallen asleep, as well.

Liv was waiting for him in their bedroom, warm and inviting, as always.

* * *

The next morning, Dean found himself alone in the enormous house. Liv had taken the girls to her sister's house for a playdate. He sat in his basement office, going through files and studying documents. Every few minutes, he realized he was grinning, inexplicably, and struggled to reign in the unfamiliar joy that had overtaken him.

"Hey, Dean! You down there?" Sam shouted from the top of the stairs.

Dean looked up, saw that it was past noon, and dropped the journal he'd been holding. It was his father's, the one he'd always used and had eventually taken over as his own.

"Yeah, come on down," he called up.

Sam trundled down the stairs, ducking his head as he stepped through the doorway.

"Where're the girls?"

Dean leaned back in his chair. "They're at Evelyn's. I think they'll be home for dinner."

"Liv's sister?" Sam asked. He pulled up a chair and dropped into it, beside the desk.

Dean nodded. "How was your day with Erin?" He grinned and cocked an eyebrow.

Sam immediately blushed and looked at the ground. "It was okay."

Dean smacked him on the shoulder. "Bullshit! It was better than okay, come on, admit it!"

"Alright, alright," Sam gave in. "It was great. She's a firecracker."

"I could tell just by meeting her," Dean said, knowingly, and winked. "You can see it in her eyes."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, before changing the subject. "So, they're gone most of the day?"

Dean nodded again. "She said she'd call on her way home but not to expect them before four."

"Awesome," Sam said. "That gives us plenty of time to figure this thing out."

"Figure what out?"

Sam's eyebrows shot up. "What do you mean 'figure what out'? Figure out why and how we got here."

Dean shook his head. "Why does it matter 'how'? We're here. Shouldn't we focus on that? I mean, there're cases we could be looking into."

Sam laughed incredulously. "Dean, _this_ is the case. _We_ are the case, right now."

"I don't think so, man."

"Why not?" Sam demanded. "How can you just sit here and accept that this is our reality now?"

Dean looked up, his eyes blazing. "How can you _not_? For the first time in… in _forever_ , we both have something good. I think we should just accept the gift we've been given."

" _Gift_?" Sam practically shouted. "How do you know it's a gift? What if this is some kind of trap?"

Dean glared down at the desk. He didn't want to hear it.

"Listen," Sam went on. "I know this new life is great; yesterday was probably the greatest day I've had in years, but we have to at least find out what happened, if only because we're missing literally _years_ from our memories, Dean."

Dean wasn't convinced that it really mattered but agreed to help, reasoning that he had nothing else to do before the girls returned. And, they already had practically all the information they would need at their fingertips; his office was a treasure trove of material to research and study.

"So you think it might be a reward for the leviathan?" Sam asked, an hour later, after they compared notes for the first time. They'd been going through all of the old files but Dean had to admit, at least to himself, that his investigating had been half-hearted.

"Yeah, why not? Angels can change the past, remember? We saved the earth; they alter the past so we end up living dream lives. Makes sense."

Sam's eyebrows furrowed together. "Maybe," he said. "But I'm not convinced."

Dean rolled his eyes and held up his hands. "Then what? What did you find?"

Sam shook his head. "Nothing, yet. But I'll keep looking."

Dean glowered and turned back to the papers in front of him. More than anything, he wanted Sam to just let it go and be happy. He could see that wasn't going to happen, though. Sam wouldn't stop until he'd found an alternative and Dean was certain it wouldn't be a good one. An hour later, his worst fears were confirmed.

"Dean, I think I found something," Sam said. He was holding their father's journal open in front of him. "I'm pretty sure I know what happened."

If the tone of his voice was anything to go by, Dean could tell that he wouldn't like Sam's next words.

"Okay," Dean acknowledged, flatly. "What?"

Sam let out a long, quiet breath and looked up. "It's a Djinn."

"A Djinn?" Dean asked, unable to hide the derision and anger in his tone.

Sam nodded, slowly. "Yeah. A Djinn. This world we're in… It's not real. And Dean…" Sam's eyes darted, awkwardly. "I think maybe you knew it."

Anger bubbled up in Dean's chest. He was outraged by Sam's accusation.

"What?! That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard! First of all, you don't even know if what you're saying is true and second, how the hell would I know?"

Sam sighed and pushed the journal toward him. "Because it's happened to you before, Dean."

The journal was open to an entry, written in Dean's handwriting. He suddenly remembered it happening, every detail. He remembered the world he'd been thrust into; Carmen, his mother, Sam and Jess… And he remembered how he got out.

"You don't know it's a Djinn," Dean said. His anger had vanished and was replaced by desperation. "You don't know for sure."

"No, I don't," Sam agreed. "But, you do."

Dean dropped his head into his hands. Did he know? He would have liked to have said no. But it was almost impossible to deny.

"Daddy?"

Dean's head whipped upward, fast enough to crack his neck.

Juniper stood on the corner of the office, dressed in a long white nightgown.

"Junie…" Sam said. He stood and took a step back, as though he were frightened of the four year old before them.

"What are you doing?" she asked in a cautionary tone.

Dean rose from his chair and stepped around the desk before kneeling in front of her.

"Dean, she's not real," Sam said, softly, and Dean knew it was true.

"I'm real," she said. Her voice rang out, sweet and clear, and she rested her palms on Dean's cheeks. "I'm real enough. Just like Mommy and Mae. We can be real for you, Daddy."

"Dean, please," Sam begged. "Don't listen to her."

Juniper ignored him and kept her gaze locked with Dean's.

"You can watch me grow up. I'll go to college, and get married. I'll have children of my own. You can be a grandfather and grow old with Mommy. Mae will be a doctor and I'll be a teacher, like Uncle Sam. Don't you want that? Don't you want to stay with us, Daddy?" she asked.

"I do," Dean answered, and he really did. He knew he would die, but he also knew it would seem like a lifetime. Everything she said was true. He _could_ grow old with Liv, and watch his daughters become women with families of their own. "I _do_ want that."

On the floor, beside him, Dean's gaze fell on the handle of a short, silver blade. It was small, but it would work. He pulled her close with one arm, hugging her tightly, and reached for the knife with his other hand.

"I love you, Daddy," she whispered against his ear and tears sprang from his eyes and trailed down his face.

He held the knife firmly in his hand and thrust it upward. It tore through unyielding flesh and lodged in place. Dean stumbled backward and Juniper stared down, her mouth dropped open in her shock.

"I love you, too," he said, his voice strained and wounded.

The knife handle protruded from Dean's chest and torrents of blood flooded the front of his shirt, soaking the fabric with a growing, bright red stain.

"Daddy!" she shrieked as he fell backward. He felt blood pooling in the back of his throat and choked on it. It splashed up into the air and splattered her snow-white gown.

"Dean!" Sam shouted but didn't rush forward. Instead, he grabbed a machete from the rack on the wall and quickly thrust it into his stomach.

Dean had a few seconds of muddled regret; had they been wrong? Did he toss away a perfect life that had been gifted to him because of a simple lapse in judgment?

His eyes closed, opened, and closed again. The office was fading into blackness. Juniper's cries were waning away until he could no longer hear them at all. When he forced his eyes open, again, he wasn't in the office, or even in the house.

He was in the basement of the library, his wrists suspended above his head. Beside him, Sam was coughing and shaking his head. They both had rudimentary IV's sloppily inserted into their arms. Rather than letting fluid trickle into their veins, it was pulling out their blood and depositing it into plastic bags that hung above their heads.

"Sammy?" Dean tried to shout but the most he could manage was a raspy whisper.

"I'm okay," Sam answered and coughed again. "I'm alright."

The Djinn was nowhere in sight. Four bodies hung randomly throughout the basement; all of them had been dead for days, at least.

Though weakened, Dean was able to work at the ropes until his hands were free. He dropped to the ground, grunting, and ripped away the needle that had been lodged in his wrist. A minute later, Sam stood beside him, also freed from his restraints.

"Where is it?" Sam asked, peering through the darkness.

Dean shook his head. He didn't know where the Djinn would be hiding, but he knew that when he found it, it would wish it had stayed hidden.

"Let's go," he growled. The bone blade sat on a collapsed bookshelf and, as he stalked past, he snatched it up and tucked it into his jacket.


	39. Chapter 39

**Well, here I am, apologizing AGAIN for the lengthy delay in posting. I've been really busy with work and struggling with some crippling writer's block. Anyway, thank you to everyone who hasn't yet abandoned Liv and me, although it would certainly be deserved!**

* * *

"You understand why I've called you both here, I presume." It wasn't a question. His tone implied that they had better understand or the consequences would be dire.

The two of them nodded, without speaking. They stood before him, perhaps five feet apart, and waited for him to continue. When he only glowered down at them, the shorter of the pair finally spoke up.

"It's time," he said in a pleasing and alluring yet empty tone. He was much smaller than his comrade, wiry even, and certainly no more than 5'6" or 5'7". His dark brown hair hung in tidy waves to his straight, chiseled jawline. His pale and handsome, if not slightly effeminate, face was partially obscured by those chin-length locks.

His age was indeterminate; by appearances, he could have been anywhere from his early twenties to his late thirties. His skin was smooth and flawless but there was hardness in his eyes, hardness that implied maturity that a younger man would rarely possess.

The man at his side, clearly his brother, was significantly taller, perhaps by as much as half a foot or even more. He was broader and lanky but powerfully built. His hair was cropped closely to his skull and his facial characteristics were sharper, more masculine, and hardened. It was impossible to estimate his age either, but his features were noticeably more youthful.

Their eyes were matching shades of ice blue and, aside from a vague but evident general resemblance, were the only concrete indication of their relation. Once observed, it was impossible to ignore, though. That they were brothers was inarguable.

Crowley glared down at them, the contempt in his expression revealing how utterly unimpressed he was by what he was observing. His nephews had never been near _or_ dear to his heart, but they were intelligent, especially Isaac, as well as ruthless. Nicholas, the younger but larger of the pair, wasn't stupid, by any means, but he was more malleable and less apt to question Crowley's motives.

They had been loyal soldiers for centuries, since his bastard half-brother had died in the seventeenth century, and he'd known them since before his own contract had expired. They'd been children when he died but, fifteen years later, he'd been the one to buy their souls in exchange for the complete eradication of their mother's tuberculosis, a particularly tenacious case of the disease that would have consumed her. A two for one, and their souls had certainly been sweet and pure, the exchange had unquestionably elevated his rank in Hell's army. He felt only mild guilt at taking advantage of them and even that had faded within the first fifty years. But, though they had sealed their own deals and understood the terms, they had never forgiven him and he had never deceived himself into believing they ever would.

Their hatred for him aside, they were reliable and had been for years. He could count on them but, even if he couldn't, it didn't matter. They were his only option.

"She'll be waking soon," he said. "When you find her, follow her. Give her space. Don't make contact."

Nicholas nodded but Isaac only stared at his uncle, unflinching.

"I don't expect she'll go to her family, though I suppose she might. If she tries, _don't_ let her." His voice rose, emphasizing his point. It would be disastrous if she were to see her family, a nightmare that would take far too much work to resolve. "If she should somehow elude you, anyone who recognizes her must be eliminated. And without her knowing it," he added hastily.

Both of his nephews nodded. Crowley didn't like the curt, barely apparent dip of Isaac's chin; it wasn't nearly subservient enough.

"And under absolutely no circumstances is she to come into contact with the Winchesters," he snarled, practically spitting out the words.

"Yes, Uncle," Nicholas said, nodding again.

Isaac narrowed his eyes but didn't speak.

"Do you understand?" Crowley asked, his gaze never wavering from Isaac's.

"Yes, Uncle," Isaac responded, after a brief hesitation that did nothing to alleviate Crowley's concerns. The two of them held that uncomfortable eye contact until Isaac finally acceded and looked away.

A moment later, Crowley dismissed them both, silently cursing his damned brother for spawning such a conniving and dangerously intelligent man.

* * *

It wasn't like waking from sleep - not even a deep, restful sleep. It was like coming out of anesthesia, like rising through an opaque cloud that she could feel gliding over her skin. In the seconds before she fully came to, she was aware of feeling completely unrestricted, like being in a warm swimming pool that perfectly matched the temperature of her body and was devoid of the eye-watering scent of chlorine.

An instant later, that dream-like feeling of weightlessness was gone. She was fully aware of her body, of the cold air around her, of the hard, unyielding wooden floor below her back. She was lying down in a darkened room - not just darkened but pitch black.

Her eyelids opened slowly, painfully. They pulled open, actually. It was like they were glued shut and her eyelashes clung together before ripping apart, causing tears to form in the corners of her eyes. She reached up to rub away whatever gunk was tangling her lashes and obscuring her vision but her hand slammed into something that hovered just above her head.

She reached up with both hands and pressed against whatever it was but it wouldn't budge. Her eyes shot open with no regard to her fragile eyelashes but it was too dark; she couldn't even see what her hands were touching just inches from her nose.

Panic caressed her mind, threatening to overwhelm her and she started pounding on the obstruction.

"Hello?" she shouted. Her voice was low and husky, as if it hadn't been used in ages and, for some unknown reason, her mouth refused to open more than a few centimeters. "Is anybody there? Hello?!"

There was no response.

Liv shoved on the obstruction but, when it remained in place, began to run her fingers across it. She searched frantically with her fingertips, hunting for a handle or knob but found nothing. The surface of the object was covered in a soft, satiny fabric but, beneath that, was hard and unyielding. As her arms extended, she felt abrupt angles where whatever was suspended above her met the sides, creating a box that left only a few inches on either side of her shoulders. She reached over her head and felt another wall; by shimmying down and kicking her feet, she felt a fourth. She was in a box and, as an undertaker, her mind immediately went to the only human-sized box she'd ever known of; a coffin.

"Hello?!" she shrieked. The panic that had been dancing at the edge of her consciousness broke loose and washed over her. Her jaw tugged apart with immeasurable effort and she reached up to investigate whatever was hindering its' progress. Just inside her mouth, her fingers poked and probed until they found a thick, metal wire that looped through the front of her lower jaw and into the roof of her mouth. Her mouth had been wired shut, using the same method she'd used a thousand times. Her mouth had been wired shut just as a corpse's would be before a funeral and, although it should be excruciating, she felt absolutely no pain.

Temporarily distracted from the coffin she was encased inside, she ripped at the wire and pulled on the staple that affixed it to bone. Tears spilled down the side of her face, not from pain but from fear and horror. Heedless of the delicate flesh of her mouth, she tore at the metal wire, ripping away fragile flesh along with it. She tasted blood in her mouth and spat, wincing as it dribbled down her chin. The wire was freed from the roof of her mouth but it was still threaded through her lower jaw, between her bottom teeth and lip. She pulled on it slowly, groaning as it caught every few inches. Finally, it pulled loose and she was able to open her mouth and scream with all of her might.

It was no use. No one answered to came to her rescue.


	40. Chapter 40

**Thanks for reading! I'm going to try to update on a more regular basis.**

 **Isaac and Nicholas are going to be more permanent fixtures to this story so I hope everybody is liking them. I've already decided who would play them, in a perfect world, and they're two of my favorite X-Men...**

 **Reviews are always appreciated, especially the criticisms!**

* * *

They lost her outside of Jasper. Isaac blamed his brother and, in all honesty, it probably was Nicholas' fault.

She had woken, just as their uncle had predicted, but it took her longer than they expected to crawl out of her grave. They stood watch from the woods beyond the cemetery and listened to her desperate screams. But Crowley had forbidden them from helping. He wanted her to be desperate. He _needed_ her to be helpless, lost, and frightened. He depended on _her_ needing _them_.

So they watched and waited, listening to her cry beneath the ground. They witnessed two funerals and pretended to be mourners visiting a lost loved one's grave. Nicholas was convinced that someone would hear her but Isaac was never concerned. He knew that they were only able to hear her calls for help due to their inherently superior demonic hearing. Humans would never be able to catch more than the faintest hint of her shrieking and pounding on the casket.

When she finally went quiet, Isaac knew that their waiting was almost done. Soon, he expected the earth above her grave would begin to quake and crumble, and about that he was right. Through the twilight, he saw a milky-white hand plunge through the grass, scrambling for purchase. Another soon followed and, by clawing her way up and out, she was able to pull herself out of the ground and collapse beside her headstone.

She stayed there for a long time while the two men watched silently, both of them holding their breath. When she sat up, she stared at the headstone for several minutes, as if it would begin to make sense. Eventually, she got to her feet, shaking either from cold, adrenaline, or fear. It was pitch black but she turned toward the road and headed out of the graveyard on trembling legs. She never stumbled, though, and she never tripped on any of the dozens of stones. It seemed she could see in the dark with as much ease as they.

She made her way into town that very night and they tailed her every movement. It was dangerous for her to be in Jasper, where she might be recognized, but Crowley had given them specific instructions to only interfere if she was seen by someone who knew her; otherwise, they were to keep their distance until they received further instructions.

She was a mess but she'd been able to brush away enough of the dirt and smooth back her hair until she looked like just another harmless woman having a bad night or, perhaps, having a bit too good of a night. She left the cemetery, making for the main road, and was picked up after barely twenty minutes by a man in a pickup truck.

Another thirty minutes later, with Isaac and Nicholas following in their nondescript black sedan, the truck was dropping her off at a seedy motel just inside the city limits.

"What do you think she's doing?" Nicholas asked. "She can't have any money; she's been dead for a year."

Isaac narrowed his eyes and frowned but didn't answer. His fingers gripped the leather steering wheel as he watched her converse with the man at the check-in counter.

"Do you think she knows him?"

Isaac shook his head. "Certainly doesn't seem to," he answered. Inside, the man handed her a piece of paper and shrugged but showed no signs of recognition.

Her shoulders dropped and she shook her head, clearly bewildered by what the man had shown her.

"What on earth is going on in there?" Nicholas mused.

Again, Isaac chose not to respond.

"Perhaps we should go inside," Nicholas continued.

"No," Isaac said.

Nicholas frowned. "Why not? We should know what's happening.

When his brother still didn't reply, Nicholas opened his door and unfolded his long legs.

"Where do you think you're going?" Isaac demanded, turning sharply.

"Inside."

"You most certainly are not," Isaac growled. The pair glowered at each other for several long seconds until Nicholas slid himself back into his seat and closed the door. "Thank you," Isaac said and turned back to the registration desk. Unfortunately, both Liv and the man had disappeared.

Isaac jumped out of the car, cursing, and hurried toward the entrance.

"What's wrong?" Nicholas called after him.

"She's gone. Look around the parking lot. I'll check inside."

Nicholas nodded and hurried away from the car. He raced through the rows of cars, passing an unassuming, primer grey Thunderbird without a single thought. He'd been instructed by his uncle to watch for the black Impala but no others. He couldn't have known that the Impala was, at that moment, being stored in a garage in Topeka, Kansas until Dean Winchester found time to repair the leaking carburetor. And he had no way of knowing that the old Thunderbird was one of their back-up vehicles, one that had been left, undamaged, in Bobby Singer's junkyard. He couldn't be held accountable for information that he didn't possess but, when the truth came out, both Isaac and their uncle blamed him all the same.

* * *

Liv's muddled brain refused to register the date on the calendar the man had shown her. A year had passed, a year since her last memory. Where she had been wasn't the question; waking up in her own casket and crawling from her own grave to come face to face with her own tombstone had been more than enough to tell her where she'd been for the past year. Dead, of course. The question was why she wasn't still dead. Why, and _how_ , was she now alive, exactly a year later?

The man was asking her something, something she'd missed entirely.

"What?" she said, her voice shaking.

"I just think you might need some help. Is there someone I can call?" the man asked.

Liv could understand his concern. She was covered in dirt, her hair was a wild, unruly mess, and her skin was ghostly pale. On her short walk before being picked up, her fingers had explored several areas of her body that felt tight and pulled. She'd discovered thick, heaving stitching covering her forearms and running down the length of her chest. The stitches didn't hurt, and they weren't visible beneath the dress she assumed her mother had chosen to bury her in, but they were uncomfortable and her movements had been jerky and awkward. She looked like a crazy person and the man had every right to be wary.

"No, there's no one," she answered. She couldn't imagine going to her family, though she knew they were close by. What would they say?

Liv glanced down at the calendar and shook her head, again. A year had passed. A full year of being dead.

Beside the calendar, the motel registry sat open. Names were scrawled in tidy rows that nearly covered the length of the page. Liv was about to look away, knowing that she couldn't stand there forever, when a particular entry caught her eye. Two of them, to be exact.

Gregg and Duane Allman had checked into the motel the day before, at two in the afternoon. They were staying in room 107. And they hadn't checked out.

"Thank you!" Liv practically shouted before sprinting out the side door, toward the row of adjoining rooms.

The man called after her but she couldn't make out his words.

Her head was spinning but her thoughts were surprisingly clear. Gregg and Duane Allman. The Allman Brothers. One of Dean's favorite bands. And she'd recognized his handwriting as easily as she'd recognize her own. He was there; he and Sam were there. She hurried past rooms, scanning the doors for their assigned numbers, and wondered what they were doing in Jasper. Was there a case? If there hadn't been one before, their certainly was now - her own resurrection. Were they involved? She didn't think so but also didn't rule it out. What she thought the most likely explanation was that they had simply come to see her grave, on the anniversary of her death. Sad, romantic, and very Dean.

But, Dean was dead. Liv stopped suddenly in front of room 106, knowing that 107 was just next door. Dean was dead and had been since long before she'd done what she did in her bedroom a year ago. But if he was dead, who had written in the names of the founders of one of his favorite bands? Who was here, with Sam, staying in room 107? Could he possibly be alive?

And, if he was, how angry would he be…?

Liv found that she'd tiptoed the last few feet to the door of room 107. It was late, far past midnight, and the lights were all off beyond the wide, front window. If they were inside, if _he_ was inside, he was most likely asleep.

She paused once more, holding her fist an inch away from the door. She had no idea what she would find inside. Was it a trick? Had she been lured to that spot by some unknown force? She didn't know, but she had to find out.

Steeling herself, she let out a long breath she didn't know she had been holding, and knocked on the door.


	41. Chapter 41

**As far as I can tell, the events of each episode are meant to occur approximately on or around their original air date. The only issue with this are the "missing" years between seasons, such as the year Dean was in Purgatory and the year Dean spent with Lisa while Sam was missing his soul. Because of this, I've had a LOT of trouble determining exactly when Liv would show up. I know that she died in September of 2012 which would bring her back sometime between the end of Season 8 and the beginning of Season 9. It's hard to catch specific dates in the episodes but in Trial and Error, Kevin shows us that it's February 7** **th** **, 2013 and that episode was aired on February 11** **th** **, 2013 - so they're pretty darn close.**

 **If we follow that exactly, it would mean that Liv resurrects while Sam is literally in a coma… except I don't think Sam actually remains in a coma for four months… Watching the episodes, it seems like Ezekiel shows up fairly quickly. Which would mean that Liv comes back well** ** _into_** **season 9.**

 **Anyway, that's what I'm going with! Because it's so hard to find actual dates from the individual episodes, I'm inserting Liv between episodes 1 and 2. It wouldn't work to go later than that because Crowley is abducted soon after.**

 **Sorry for the long rant… I just don't want anyone to think I'm ignoring the general timeline. And at any rate, the writers themselves don't seem to worry too much about timeline discrepancies… so I'm not going to either!**

* * *

There is a general understanding that human beings display one of two possible reactions when faced with danger - to fight or to flee. However, there is a lesser known yet far more common reaction that is rarely elaborated on - to freeze. When faced with the resurrected body of his long-deceased lover, and the choice between fight, flight, or freeze, Dean Winchester did the latter.

If she'd been in any mood to appreciate humor, Liv might have laughed at his gaping mouth, his widening eyes, or the way his fingers gripped the door until they whitened from exertion. She was in no mood to laugh, though. Instead, she pushed inside, slammed the door behind her, and flung herself against him. All thoughts of a trap vanished from her mind when his powerful arms carefully enveloped her.

"Liv!" Sam blurted out. He had been seated at the kitchenette's small, round table but he leapt to his feet the moment she stepped into the room. "You're… you're…"

"Alive," she said, her voice muffled by the cotton of Dean's t-shirt. "I am."

"But how?" he demanded.

She was relieved to hear him asking the right questions. Dean, on the other hand, hadn't moved an inch or spoken a word though his embrace had tightened until she could barely move.

"I don't know," she breathed, still savoring the familiar scent of Dean's Old Spice.

His arms finally relaxed enough that she could pull back and look up at him. He looked the same, but different. Harder. His hair was shorter and narrow lines had appeared at the corners of his eyes. Had it really been two years since she'd seen him? It hurt her heart to think of the time they'd missed.

"You're alive, too," she whispered and slipped her arms around his waist, again. He was so warm; she hadn't realized how cold she'd been until she found the heat from his body. He pulled her closer, resting his chin on the top of her head, and she felt as though she could stand there forever.

An instant later, though, Sam was there. He wanted to look at her, to inspect her. He tugged at the twigs and leaves in her hair and eyed the nasty stitching that peeked out from beneath her high collar.

"What happened? Tell me everything," he ordered.

Dean led her to his bed, an ugly double covered with a vomit-green colored duvet.

"I don't know. I woke up in… in a coffin. I couldn't see anything. It was pitch black and I was in this box and I started to scream but no one came, no one could hear me." She started to cry then, remembering the feeling of being locked inside, in the dark, all alone. Dean pulled her close, his arm around her waist, until she was able to continue.

"I knew where I was, right away. I knew it had to be a coffin. I didn't think I'd ever be able to get out but I kept pounding on the wood above me. I thought my hand was broken, I could have sworn I heard the bones break. I mean, I _felt_ it. Finally, the wood splintered. It felt like tons of dirt falling down on my face. It got in my mouth, in my eyes… I couldn't breathe but I just kept pushing and climbing until I was out."

"How did you get here?" Dean asked, the first words he spoke since she entered the room. "How did you find us?"

"I hitchhiked," Liv said. "I didn't know you were here. Why _are_ you here?"

"We came to see you," Sam said, quietly.

"To see your grave," Dean added. "It's been a year…"

Liv nodded. "I know. I saw the marker."

Sam knelt in front of them and took her hands into his own. They were red, the nails were torn and ragged, caked with dirt, but nothing was broken. Scrapes and scratches covered her skin but they looked nearly healed, as if she'd gotten them days before.

"Does it hurt?" Sam asked.

Liv shook her head. The pain from her broken hand had faded sometime on the road. She'd been too distracted to realize.

"What about this?" Dean asked. He gently pulled aside her collar and stroked the stitching.

"No, but it itches. It pulls," she answered and felt the tears welling up, again. She knew what the stitching was from and she felt ashamed of it. "It's here, too," she continued in a choked voice, pulling up the sleeves of her dress.

Dean guided her head to his shoulder and held her close. She knew he meant to comfort her but it only made her feel worse.

"Sammy, can you grab the first aid kit from the trunk? I think we have some scissors or something," he said, his voice gruff.

"Yeah, sure. Be right back."

With Sam out of the room, Liv felt even more vulnerable.

"I'm sorry," she muttered against his throat. He didn't respond but he cleared his throat softly.

A second later, Sam burst back into the room with a medium sized, tin box in his hands.

"Alright," he said. "Come over here and I'll see about getting those out." He beckoned her to the table where he dropped the box. It landed with a clatter that made Liv jump.

She made her way to the table with Dean at her side, his arm still wrapped firmly around her waist. At the table, they sat side by side as Sam used a tiny pair of manicure scissors to cut one of the stitches on her left wrist. When he tugged at the thread with some tweezers he'd found in the box, she winced. The stitches didn't hurt while left alone but the skin had healed around them. Pulling them away would open the old wounds.

"Sorry," Sam said, frowning.

The black thread had hardened with time and become brittle. Fifteen minutes later, Sam had only removed a few; they kept tearing apart and he had to dig for scraps. Exasperated, he tossed the tweezers onto the table and leaned back in his chair.

"I'm sorry, Liv," he said. "Maybe if we soak them for a little while? They might slide out easier."

Liv nodded, relieved to have the break. Her arm, where the stitches had been removed, was red and puffy. She dreaded the extraction of the stitches on her chest and stomach, where the flesh was even more tender.

"Why don't you take a bath?" Dean suggested. "The warm water will help, I bet."

She nodded, again, and realized just how badly she wanted to be out of her burial gown. It had probably been beautiful, a knee length, beige, lace dress with long sleeves and a high collar, but it was covered in dirt and mildew. It smelled like grave rot and it made her skin crawl. She had nothing else, though.

"Can you help me?" she asked as she stood from the table. Dean followed her into the bathroom and closed the door before drawing down the long zipper of the foul-smelling dress. He started the bath water, adjusting the temperature while Liv shimmied out of the dress. She kicked it to the side, and let out a relieved sigh. Her under garments, modest black panties and a matching bra, were equally disgusting. She hesitated for only a second before stepping out of the panties and unsnapping the bra. He'd seen every inch of her but it had been two years. Her moment of modesty passed quickly when she realized she was more embarrassed by the long, jagged line of stitches that bisected her breasts and traveled down to her navel. When she saw the hurt in his eyes, as he took in the sight of her damaged body, the embarrassment shifted to a burning shame and an aching sorrow.

"I'm so sorry," she sobbed. "I don't know what happened; I went crazy or something."

He dropped to the edge of the bathtub and leaned forward, his face in his hands. Liv hurried to the tub and crouched beside him, resting her hands on his knees.

"Why?" he asked. "Why would you do something like that?"

Liv shook her head. "I don't know. I _wouldn't_ do something like that, ever! I don't know what happened. I remember that night; it was like I was a different person." She did remember; she remembered feeling senseless, and out of control. She remembered seeing him, hearing his voice, but she didn't tell him that. She knew it wasn't his fault but he might see it differently. He might feel even more responsible if he knew it had been a vision of his own ghost that drove her to such desperate actions.

"Didn't you know what it would do to me? To Sam?" he asked and she realized he was angry. It made her feel better. She deserved his anger.

"I thought you were _dead_ ," she said, knowing it wasn't an excuse. "I thought you were dead and Sam was gone. I was wrong. It was a stupid, selfish thing to do, I can see that now."

He raised his head and the tears in his eyes were like daggers to her heart.

"I was in a bad place," she said. "Something happened to me, I don't know what. I just… I don't know what happened!"

"You have to be stronger than that," he said, sternly. "Bad things happen, I know that better than anyone, but you can't check out. You have to keep fighting!"

Liv nodded. He was right, of course. She had been weak and made a rash decision.

"I know," she said, nodding frantically. "I know that. I was okay, for a while. Ask Sam! I wasn't ever happy but I was dealing with it. And then… I don't know. Something happened."

He stared at her, anger burning in his eyes, and tightly gripped her forearms. She waited for him to say something, anything, but he didn't.

A moment later, a light tap came from just outside the bathroom door. Liv jumped up and grabbed one of the scratchy towels, wrapping it around her body.

"Come in," she said, her voice husky.

Sam poked his head into the room, frowning with concern.

"Hey, I'm gonna run down the road. I think I saw a Wal-Mart. I'll get you something to wear, okay?"

Liv smiled up at him, grateful for his thoughtfulness. "Thanks, Sammy."

After he had left, Liv lowered herself into the bathtub, wincing at the warmth of the water. It soothed the uncomfortable itching of the stitches but she was unaccustomed to being anything but frigid. Twice, they were forced to empty the tub and refill it with fresh water; caked on grime tinged it a dark, muddy brown. While she sat in the tub, letting the heat travel through her body, Dean carefully washed her hair using the small bottles of shampoo and conditioner that had been left by the housekeeper. He did it twice, running his fingers through the long strands to remove any tangles, and only stopped when the water ran clean as it trickled down her back.

After Sam left, they didn't speak at all. Liv didn't know what to say and it seemed Dean felt the same. She only sat in the tub with her arms wrapped around her knees until he finished. By the time he was done, the sleeves and chest of his black t-shirt were soaking wet but he wrapped both towels around her body after draining the tub a final time. Liv could hear Sam shuffling around outside the bathroom door; he had apparently returned from his shopping trip.

He had been right about the stitches; removing them after she'd been soaking in the tub was marginally easier. They slipped out of her flesh without breaking apart and her arms were finished in just a few minutes. Liv stared down at her skin, her eyebrows furrowed. The edges of her wounds knitted together, perfectly. Though reddened, and a bit puffy, the scars had faded to practically nothing. As she watched, they vanished entirely. Instead of calling attention to the anomaly, she held her arms against her torso and kept quiet.

Removing the stitches from between her breasts and down her stomach proved a bit more difficult, if only because they were all more concerned with retaining her modesty. Liv knew that everyone in the room had seen her completely nude, but it seemed a poor opportunity to bring up the fact. She leaned back in her chair and held the towel against herself, leaving a narrow gap uncovered. Sam was extremely careful as he tugged away each strand of thread. He paused though, when he reached her stomach.

"Your scar…" he began, in a bewildered voice. "It's gone."

"What?" Liv said, abruptly sitting up. She dropped the towel and cupped her breasts in her hands. Staring down at the pale, smooth flesh, she saw that he was right. The ugly marks that spelled out Dean's name had vanished.

"When did that happen?" Sam asked.

Liv shrugged. She had no idea; she couldn't remember seeing it earlier.

"I didn't notice before," Dean said in a quiet voice. "I was trying not to look at the… at the stitches."

Sam nodded, his forehead wrinkled with confusion. He returned to the remaining knots and focused on removing them, though his expression didn't change.

Once he'd finished, Liv turned her attention to the bags he'd brought back from the store.

"I didn't know your size so I mostly stuck with stuff that stretched or tied," he said.

Liv pulled out a pair of athletic shorts and a t-shirt. She discovered that Sam had thoughtfully brought her a toothbrush, deodorant, a hairbrush, and a wad of hair ties. With a nod of thanks, she gathered up her toiletries and disappeared into the bathroom, again.

The moment the door closed, Sam turned to Dean and opened his mouth to speak but before a word was uttered, his eyes flashed bright blue and the angel inside him took control.

"Dean," Ezekiel said in a stern, gruff tone. "We need to talk."


	42. Chapter 42

**And we're back! Thanks so much of the kind reviews! Reviews are fuel for my writing demons! Please let me know what you think of this new chapter. 3**

* * *

Something very strange was happening. It seemed silly, considering everything she'd been through the previous six hours, but standing in the bathroom, after brushing her teeth and running a brush through her hair, she realized just how monumental the changes to her body actually were.

The scar was gone; Dean's name had inexplicably vanished but that wasn't the only thing that had disappeared. She had other scars, typical markings similar to what most people might collect throughout their lives. The cut on her finger from her sister's eleventh birthday when she'd picked up a broken beer bottle, the scar from her foot that she'd gotten when she was seven and dropped one of her father's throwing knives, even the three tiny holes where she'd been punctured by the points from a strand of barbed wire fence she'd crawled under when she was sixteen - they were all gone. Even the sun spots on her shoulders were missing, leaving nothing but smooth, pale skin.

Not only that, her tattoos looked strange. The newer ones, those that had been less than a few years old at the time of her death, looked faded by age, as if she'd had them for a decade or longer. The older tattoos that she'd gotten in her teenage years were barely visible at all and the delicate dandelion fluff that had traveled across her belly has faded to nothing.

Liv inspected every inch of her body that she could, craning her neck to look back over her shoulder and twisting around in front of the mirror. It was undeniable; of the many tattoos she'd gotten over the years, only a handful remained and many of those would be gone soon, if they followed the same pattern as the others.

Even the flesh of her wrists and down her chest and stomach, from where Sam had removed the stitches, was remarkably smooth and clear. The redness had disappeared and the tiny pinpricks were barely visible. In fact, the area of the first few stitches that Sam had fought to pull out was indeterminate. The wounds had healed so perfectly that she couldn't even see where they had been.

Liv looked down at her hands and saw that her cuticles, normally ragged and torn from her unpleasant habit of biting her fingernails, were undamaged.

When she looked up at herself in the mirror, she realized one more thing. When she'd crawled out of her grave, she hadn't had her glasses. Whether they'd been lost in the coffin or she hadn't been buried with them, she didn't know. Either way, they were gone and her vision hadn't suffered. She could see without them, perhaps better than she ever had in her life.

Liv sat on the edge of the bathtub and leaned forward with her elbows on her knees. She rested her head in her trembling hands, fighting with herself as she tried to make sense of what was happening. She could come to no conclusion, though.

* * *

"What do you mean, she can't stay?" Dean angrily demanded. "She just came back from the dead; she _has_ to stay."

"I'm sorry," Ezekiel said, tonelessly. "She cannot stay here."

"Why not?" Dean knew that his voice was echoing the angry confusion and he had to remind himself that Ezekiel was doing him an enormous favor by remaining in Sam's body.

"Because of what she has become. The woman is no longer human, Dean."

Dean's head throbbed. "Her name is Olivia," he growled. "And of course she's human. What else would she be?"

Ezekiel shook Sam's head, knowingly. "She is not. I do not know what has happened but I sense that her nature has drastically shifted."

Dean dropped onto the edge of his bed and ran a hand over his mouth and chin. "Listen, I've fought dozens of creatures that were once alive and came back from the dead. Ghouls, zombies, vampires, I've seen them all. This is different."

"How so?" Ezekiel asked. "How is she different from the monsters you've hunted?"

Dean looked up at him sharply. "Well, she's not trying to eat us, for one!"

The angel nodded. "Yes, that is curious. I suspect it has something to do with the nature of her relationship with Sam. Their closeness must have deterred her from attacking," he mused, looking down at the ground.

Dean's eyebrows furrowed together. "The nature of her relationship with Sam?" he repeated. "What the hell does that mean?"

Ezekiel met Dean's angry gaze, questioningly. "They were together, were they not?"

Dean stood and shook his head. He paced from the bathroom door to the kitchen table. "No, no. They were just friends. Good friends but Liv was with _me_." The angel was confused; he could understand how it might happen. Liv and Sam had always been very close.

It was Ezekiel's turn to disagree. "No, that cannot be right. I can see into Sam's memories, memories of this woman, this Olivia. They have been intimate. I'm certain I am not mistaken."

Dean stopped midstep. He turned and stalked toward Sam's body, staring into his eyes that were still tainted an iridescent blue by the angel's power.

"You can see his memories? You can see them…" His voice trailed off. He couldn't say it, but he didn't have to. Ezekiel finished the sentence.

"Making love," he said. "Yes. Through Sam, I can remember it."

Dean's veins felt as though they were filled with ice, his blood frozen in place. It couldn't be possible. Liv would never have done that to him, he was sure of it. And Sam… Sam would have died before sleeping with Liv. He knew how much she meant to Dean.

"No way," Dean said, forcefully. "That never happened. Not a chance in Hell. You must be seeing a dream. Or… or a fantasy." Even the idea of Sam _fantasizing_ about Liv in such a way made his upper lip twitch into a derisive sneer and his fists clench until his nails dug into his palms.

Ezekiel never looked away from Dean's eyes. "But it did, Dean. It happened, many times. I can see them clearly. I can remember how she looked, before the stitches and wounds. I remember the feel of her skin and the taste of her sweat. I remember - ."

"That's enough!" Dean shouted. He couldn't bear to hear more.

The door to the bathroom opened and Liv stepped out, her eyes wide.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, softly.

Dean saw Sam blink twice, his head shaking, and then his eyes were his own, again.

"Everything's fine," Dean said, struggling to keep his voice steady.

Sam looked confused for a second but he nodded. "Yeah, we're good. What about you?"

She pulled the bathroom door closed behind her and padded across the floor to Dean's bed. "I'm okay," she answered. "Tired."

"You should get some sleep," Sam said, kindly. "It's pretty late."

Dean looked at the alarm clock on the table between the two beds. It was after two in the morning; they were all exhausted. He didn't know what to do with the information Ezekiel had given him. The betrayal was like a knife to his heart, stuck and unyielding.

He watched her crawl into the bed and wished that Ezekiel had kept his mouth shut about Sam's private memories. He knew it had happened after he was banished to Purgatory; he knew, without a doubt, that Liv had been true to him while he was with her. Ezekiel didn't have to elaborate on the circumstances for him to understand what had happened, but it didn't make him feel better at all.

"You going to bed?" Sam asked, jolting Dean out of his contemplations.

He glared at Sam for a few seconds, his right hand clenching and relaxing spasmodically as he imagined slamming his fist into Sam's jaw. He finally nodded and stepped toward the furthest side of his bed, as far away from Sam as he could get. He undressed slowly, wondering what, if anything, he should do with the revelation. Nothing could change the past, he understood. And she hadn't been unfaithful; they had both believed him to be dead.

Dean slipped into the bed beside Liv, leaving several inches of space between them. He was afraid to touch her, afraid of what he might do but when she rolled toward him and rested her head on his bare shoulder, he did nothing. His anger wasn't dulled and his hurt didn't diminish; it seemed to swell and harden, instead. He slid his arm around her waist and held her tight against him, wanting more than anything to not feel so comfortable, so complete, with her in his arms.

He fell asleep, still pondering whether or not he could ever begin to forgive them.

* * *

She was woken by the smell; rotting flesh that permeated the air and assaulted her nose. As an undertaker, Liv had never been overly sensitive to smells but she was familiar with the aroma of decomposition and she recognized it immediately.

They were crawling through the open window, four corpses in varying stages of decay. Two of them wore moldering suits; the tattered fabric barely clung to their emaciated forms. The third, bloated and shiny with putrescence, wore nothing at all. Its lips were peeled back, revealing two uneven rows of perpetually grinning teeth. The last was a woman, dressed in a simple blue dress. She could have been alive if not for the greyed, wrinkled look of her skin and the clouded marbles that were her eyes.

"Dean!" Liv shrieked and jumped out of the bed.

Dean leapt to his feet and immediately reached for the revolver that he'd latched to the underside of the mattress.

"Sam!" he shouted, but Sam was already up, wielding a foot long machete.

The four monsters had tumbled onto the floor and were struggling to their feet. The first, in its moldering black funeral suit, shambled toward Dean and Liv. Dean shoved her behind him, into the corner, and aimed the gun at the creature's head. He pulled the trigger, obliterating its' face and skull. The body dropped at his feet, spilling intestines and slimy fluids across the carpet. He raised the gun again but before he could make a shot, the naked zombie grabbed his arm and wrenched it aside. The gun fell from Dean's hand and went off once, sending bullet fragments into the wall.

Liv screamed and grabbed onto the monster that held Dean. Her fingers sank into its swollen flesh and watery slime flooded her hand and arm. She tugged on it, grimacing as the skin and weakened muscle slid free from the bone.

Across the room, Sam was hacking at the other remaining monsters but they were quickly over powering him. The woman grasped his arm and he yanked it away but dropped the machete. It clattered onto the ground, out of his reach.

Liv tugged on the zombie's spongey arm, sinking her fingernails into its flesh until they met bone. It's jaw snapped shut just inches from Dean's shoulder.

"Go help Sam!" Dean shouted, again. Liv tried once more to free Dean from its vicelike grip but to no avail. She let go, shaking the foul fluid from her fingers, and raced over the bed to Sam. He was still grappling with the two zombies but Liv saw that he wouldn't last much longer. She barreled into them, knocking Sam free but unfortunately sending them all to the floor. She landed directly onto the man in the suit; their faces were mere inches apart but it didn't attack her. Instead, it slipped out from beneath her and began to crawl toward Sam, again.

Liv scanned the room, desperate for a weapon. The gun was on the ground, a few feet from the bed. She saw Dean backed into the corner, unable to break away from the unnatural strength of the monster he was fighting. She saw Sam, on his back, struggling to crawl away from the two zombies that were quickly approaching. She would never reach the gun in time.

"Stop it!" she pleaded. "Please, stop, don't hurt them!"

No one was more surprised than she when the zombies all froze. The turned to face her and then stood still, as if waiting for further instructions.

Liv's tear-filled eyes widened. Sam scrambled to his feet and leapt across the beds to Dean's side. Dressed in only his briefs, Dean was covered in visceral fluids and blood but was uninjured.

"Are you guys okay?" Liv asked in a whisper. The three zombies had shuffled closer and stood, silently, in a semi-circle around her. They didn't breathe, didn't speak; they only stood there, unnaturally still, and waited.

"We're fine," Sam answered. Dean nodded, fervently. His eyes were wide with fear and his mouth hung open.

Liv was afraid to move, certain that the instant she did, the creatures would attack.

"Liv," Sam said, softly. "Liv, listen to me, okay?"

She nodded, an almost imperceptible motion. Her breath hitched in and out and tears of terror streamed down her face.

"Liv, I want you to tell them to do something," Sam continued.

"To do what?" she breathed. As she spoke, the three zombies stiffened and they each took another step closer to her.

"Anything," Sam said. "Just tell them anything."

"Go to…" Liv began, her voice croaking in her throat. She coughed gently and began again. "Go to the window."

The zombies immediately began to shuffle, in a neat line, toward the window. They passed Sam and Dean without acknowledging their presence.

Liv let out a heavy breath and her shoulders slumped.

"Tell them to leave," Sam said. His voice was filled with disbelief.

"Go back outside," Liv said. "Go back to the cemetery."

They crawled out the window, dropping heavily onto the ground below.

Dean hurried to Liv and quickly scanned her body for injuries. Apparently satisfied that she was alright, he wrapped his arms around her, tight enough to stop her breath.

"You have to finish it," Sam said, gently.

Liv stepped away from Dean, toward the window. The zombies were beginning the long walk back to the cemetery. She sighed, shakily, and wiped away the tears that dampened her cheeks.

"Go back," she said, her voice still shaky and diminutive. "Go back to your graves."

The three of them watched the creatures disappear into the woods.

Liv slumped onto the bed, her soiled arms and hands held out away from her body.

"Alright, what the fuck was that?" Dean demanded, to no one in particular. "What the _fuck_?!"

"I don't know," Sam said. "But, I think we've got a lot of research to do."

The two men stared down at Liv, wearing matching expressions of confusion, disbelief, and even fear. She didn't respond, didn't speak at all. She only looked down at the zombie Dean had shot and the spreading pool of blood that surrounded it.


	43. Chapter 43

**Well, would you look at that - we're back! No, it didn't take me a full year to write this chapter. And no, it won't be another year before the next one comes out. I'm hoping people are still interested in Liv's story!**

* * *

Liv barely recognized the reflection in the mirror in front of her. If she hadn't lived through the previous week, she wouldn't have believed it was her own face staring back at her.

All of her tattoos had completed faded; there wasn't a trace of even the freshest ink. Every scar she'd ever received had also disappeared, including the marks from the coroner's stitches. Freckles, moles, birthmarks… all gone.

She had no need for eye glasses, which took the longest to adjust to. She still found herself reaching to push up the phantom spectacles. Her skin was pale and completely unblemished; her cuticles absent of all bite marks or tears, though her habit of nibbling her fingernails was unwavering.

These changes were all alarming, or had been when she first discovered them, but perhaps most unsettling was her hair. The naturally wavy tendrils, normally dark brown with natural caramel highlights, and nearly impossible to tame, had completely transformed almost overnight. They hung straight down her back, as straight as if they'd been ironed flat, and were the deepest, darkest shade of midnight black she'd ever witnessed. Without the characteristic curls, the even tips fell well past the small of her back.

Staring at herself in the mirror, Liv felt as though she were gazing into the eyes of a stranger, eyes that had inexplicably darkened until she could no longer decipher between iris and pupil. Contrasted by the black, the whites of her eyes appeared to almost glow.

She was afraid and she wasn't alone in her fear.

In the week since she'd woken inside the rotting, putrid coffin, Sam's wariness of her presence had continued to grow until she could barely stand to be in the same room as him. She could sense his unease, some moments more apparent than others, but never completely absent. He was afraid of her, but he at least tried to act as though the situation wasn't completely out of control.

Dean, on the other hand, hadn't touched her in days, not since the morning she'd woken and her honey brown eyes had been replaced by gleaming orbs of pure onyx. He'd stared at her as if she were a freak; she couldn't get that moment out of her mind. The look on his face, an expression of pure horror, and he hadn't laid a finger on her since. The still slept in the same bed, an expanse of empty sheets between them, but gone were the nights of warm cuddles, stolen midnight kisses, or gentle caresses. They hadn't made love even once in the week since she returned, and she couldn't imagine it happening. He was repulsed by her, and the macabre changes her body was suffering through, she was sure of it.

Liv ran her fingers through her hair and shook her head, letting the thick tresses shake from side to side. There was no need to brush them anymore. They never tangled, never knotted. She considered chopping them off, for the thousandth time, and quickly disregarded the notion. She could admit to herself, after a week of adjustment, that she was too afraid that it would simply grow back overnight. It was too long to leave loose, though. Instead, she quickly twisted it into a relaxed braid and tried to forget how sleek and smooth it felt between her fingers. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes as she experienced a brief series of flashbacks - memory after memory whirled through her mind, each one a new recollection of a time when Dean had tirelessly worked a comb or a brush through the mass of curls. The strength of his fingers as they massaged her scalp, the care he took to be so gentle. It stung like slivers of glass.

When the moment had finally passed, she let out a long breath and slipped a pale pink, cotton dress over her head and shoulders. The light, flowing fabric fell to just below her knees. It was cold outside but the dress was sleeveless. It wasn't that she couldn't feel the cold; she just didn't mind it anymore.

She dreaded leaving the privacy of the bathroom, knowing that they were sitting just on the other side of the door, that they would look at her with dread in their eyes and subconsciously move away, so that they could avoid even brushing against her as she passed. She knew they didn't do it on purpose, but that didn't make it hurt less.

Liv cleared her throat and gathered up her belongings, sparing one last look for those disquieting eyes, and reached for the doorknob.

* * *

To their credit, they didn't dance around the issue. Since she'd sent the corpses back to their graves, since her phenomenal physical transformations had begun, Sam and Dean had focused solely on discovering what was causing the string of miracles. Her resurrection, her control of the dead, her impossible ability to heal… they were resolute in their research.

"Anything new?" she asked as she ducked between the beds and into the kitchenette, taking care to leave plenty of space between herself and both of the men. She already knew the answer to her question; they would most certainly have told her if they'd found anything. It was just something to say, something to fill the silence.

"Nope," Sam said, without looking up from his laptop. Dean simply shook his head. He was hammering through Bobby's journal for probably the fiftieth time that week.

Liv slipped a pair of sunglasses on and sat at the table beside Sam. The glasses were for their benefit, but she was relieved when they masked the hurt in her eyes as Sam pulled his knees away from hers and shifted his body so that he no longer leaned in her direction. Her eyes narrowed at the unfairness of it all.

She sat there for forty minutes, leaning back in the chair with her legs crossed. No one spoke; the only sounds were the flipping of the pages in the journal as Dean read and the occasional clicking of Sam's computer mouse. When she could no longer stand the silence, Liv lurched to her feet and stepped into a pair of leather sandals.

"I'm going for a walk," she said, calmly. "I'll be back in an hour or so."

"Be careful," Dean called after her, without raising his head. Sam watched her leave, but didn't respond. She stepped out into the brightness, where the sunglasses wouldn't be questioned, and tried not to slam the door behind her.

* * *

"Dean, it's been a week since we left Jasper and we've found nothing. Things are just getting worse." Sam closed the laptop with an irritated sigh and crossed his arms over his chest.

"I know," Dean answered. "I feel like we're still at the beginning. I've never seen anything like this and neither did Dad or Bobby, if their journals are anything to go by."

Sam got up and walked toward the fridge, pulling out two beer bottles. "Are you sure we shouldn't call one of Dad's old contacts? Another hunter might -." He abruptly stopped speaking and Dean looked up in just enough time to see Sam's eyes burn bright blue for an instant.

Dean scowled, knowing what was coming.

"Dean, it's time. We cannot wait any longer," Ezekiel began. Dean cut him off.

"I can't just make her leave," he insisted. "Where would she go? I have to help her."

The angel shook his head, or rather Sam's head, and continued. "We agreed that she would stay a week. After the week, she would go. It has now been a week and eleven hours. The woman has to leave."

Dean stalked into the kitchen and snatched one of the bottles out of Sam's hand. "What the hell am I supposed to say? How can I abandon her in the middle of this… this shit she's dealing with?!" He swore to himself that he wouldn't abandon her, not until they had figured out what was happening. Not until he knew she would be safe, on her own. If only there was a way…

The angel had no answer to his question. Dean stood, scowling at the floor, until a thought began to form in his mind and held up his free hand. "Wait a second," he said, abruptly. "What if _you_ leave?"

Ezekiel frowned at the suggestion. "I don't believe Sam is ready. He would not survive if I were to leave this early."

Dean shook his head. "No, I mean what if you and Sam left. I can come up with something to get Sam out of here for a few days. Buy me some more time to figure this thing out."

"I do not demand that she leave for my own benefit, alone," Ezekiel explained. "The woman is a danger to all she comes into contact with."

"Sure, sure," Dean said, waving his hand dismissively. "I get it but I'm fine. I just need a few more days. It's been a week and nothing bad's happened. What harm could three more days cause?"

The angel stared at him, considering the idea. "Alright," he finally said. "Three days. Then I'm coming back with Sam and the woman must leave. Are we in agreement?"

Dean nodded, already trying to work out a loophole. He couldn't imagine ever telling Liv she had to leave. It was ludicrous, even in her bizarre state.

"-know something we don't," Sam said, suddenly. Dean jumped and quickly realized that Ezekiel had receded back into Sam's subconscious.

"Yeah, maybe," Dean said. "You know, there's a healer down in Florida that might know something. Thing is, she doesn't use phones or electronics. Something about the conductive waves interfering with her abilities."

Sam's eyebrows knit together. "Really? That's weird…"

"Totally weird," Dean said. "Maybe you should run down there and try to catch up with her. Her name's… uhh… Calista… Flock… enridge…" he finished, lamely.

"Calista Flockenridge?" Sam said, perplexed and unbelieving.

"Yeah," Dean said with more conviction. "It's Dutch. Here, I'll write down the address."

It took Dean another forty minutes to convince Sam that his leaving was imperative to them solving the mystery of Liv's resurrection but, by some miracle, he was packed and out the door before she returned.


	44. Chapter 44

"Cass?" Dean called out into the empty parking lot. "Cass, are you there? Could really use your help, buddy. I don't know if you can even hear me. I don't know if you've got your mojo back or what but... I just need you. I've called; I've left messages. I don't know what else to do. I'm sorry..."

When only silence answered, Dean groaned internally and started back toward the room he shared with just Liv, since Sam had left on his meaningless quest. Dean stopped at the door and rubbed his palm across his mouth, wishing he didn't feel such apprehension about going inside. When he pushed the door open, though, he was pleasantly surprised to find Cass inside, his trench-coated arms wrapped tightly around Liv, who was returning the embrace.

"Cass," Dean said. "Good to see you got my messages."

Cass stepped away from Liv with a wide grin and nodded. "I did. I'm sorry I didn't call back."

Dean frowned. "So, you didn't hear me just now? How did you get here?"

Cass stepped away from Liv and shook his head. "No. I just arrived in what I believe is a Cadillac DeVille. It's nice but... I don't much enjoy the color."

Dean waved away Cass' explanation. He was amazed that the angel appeared so comfortable with Liv; he didn't seem alarmed by the drastic change in her appearance at all.

"He scared me," Liv said in an accusing but playful tone.

"I apologize," Cass said.

Liv shrugged. "I'm just glad you're here. Maybe you can help."

The angel's expression turned serious and he scrutinized Liv, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. "Yes, I can see how you might have some questions. Namely, how and why are you alive, yes?"

"And what the hell's happening to her?" Dean added.

"All excellent questions," Cass answered. "I'm afraid I might not be much help, but I'm certainly eager to try."

Liv looked disappointed, but Dean wasn't willing to give up.

"Anything you can tell us would be great. We're going on nothing, here," he said, desperately. Calling Cass had been a last resort attempt at getting to the bottom of Liv's troubles, and the idea that even his ethereal friend couldn't help was crushing.

"Your eyes," Cass said, gazing intently at Liv's face. "They're black, but not like a demon's. It's your iris's that have darkened. You complexion has lightened, considerably. Your hair is darker, and has lost all of its texture."

Dean remembered the scars, those brutal marks that bore his name. "There's more," he said. "Show him." He motioned toward her stomach, which was covered by a black t-shirt.

Liv reluctantly lifted her shirt, exposing the smooth expanse of her pale flesh.

"I see nothing," Cass said, perplexed.

"Exactly. She used to have scars." Dean sat on the bed and rested his elbows on his knees. He smiled at Liv as she lowered her shirt, wondering all the while if it was really her inside that foreign body.

"Have all of her scars vanished?"

Liv nodded. "And my tattoos. Freckles, birth marks, everything…"

"Odd," was Cass's only response. He said nothing for several minutes, but paced the length of the room, nibbling on his lower lip.

Dean watched the angel as he passed the bed once, twice… eventually he stopped counting. He turned his attention to Liv, who was anxiously running her fingers through her dark locks. This was a habit he remembered, although it had been considerably more difficult in the past. Now, her fingers slipped right through the thick, silky strands. Her hair was so dark, a midnight black that almost seemed to disappear at night when he turned off the lights. There were no shades of blue or brown… only that deep, endless black - the same unnerving color as her eyes.

"I'd like to try something, if you consent," Cass said, suddenly. Dean glanced up sharply; he could hear the trepidation in Cass's voice. Whatever he was about to suggest wouldn't be pleasant.

"Um… okay. If you think it'll help, you can do whatever," Liv said, shrugging her shoulders.

"Hold up," Dean said, jumping up from the bed. "What exactly are you going to do?"

Cass's eyebrows knitted together and he grimaced. "I'd like to check on the condition of her soul."

Dean paled, remembering Sam's expression of agony as Cass had forced his hand into Sam's chest, searching for a soul that was chillingly absent.

"Is that really necessary?" he demanded, although he already thought it must be. Sam was brought back, missing his soul. Liv didn't show any of the same symptoms, but he didn't know enough to be certain their circumstances were entirely different.

Cass nodded, slowly. "I wouldn't have suggested it if I didn't think it was essential, Dean."

Dean's hand immediately rose up to his mouth, again. "Alright," he said, scowling. "Just try to be gentle. I mean, can you even still do this?"

Cass shrugged. "I'm not sure. I believe so."

Liv's eyes widened and she shifted her gaze from Cass to Dean and then back to Cass. "Is it going to hurt?" she asked, timidly.

"I'm afraid it will be quite painful," Cass said, with true regret in his tone. "But it will be quick, I promise."

Dean hurried to her side and slipped his arm around her waist, realizing that it was the first time he'd done so in days. She felt just the same as she always had, a reassuring realization.

Cass knelt before them and placed his left hand on Liv's right knee.

"You'll be alright," he said. "Just try to relax."

Dean watched Cass press his right palm against Liv's chest, just above her breasts. Her eyes widened even further as a bright, white light began to emanate from the meeting point. As his hand pushed forward, and was enveloped inside her torso, her expression contorted into a grimace of pure anguish and she shrieked. Dean pressed his forehead against her temple, his eyes closed tightly. He wanted to block out the sound of her pain but he forced himself to listen, to experience it with her.

Cass dug inside of her chest, his eyes focused and determined. It went on for far too long, Dean thought. Tears poured from Liv's eyes as Cass's arm disappeared, past his elbow. Dean was certain it could only mean one thing; Liv's soul must have been gone, just as Sam's had.

After what felt like hours, but in truth could only have been a minute or less, Cass slowly withdrew his hand. He didn't move for several seconds, and only watched as Liv's chest heaved and Dean tucked her into his arm, against him. When her breathing steadied, and the tears stopped, Cass stood and took a step back.

"Well?" Dean commanded. "What did you find?" He was sure that the answer would be a resolute nothing, that Liv's soul was missing, but Cass smiled.

"It's there, in perfect condition."

Dean let out a long breath. "You're sure? Like, really sure?"

Cass nodded. "I'm entirely sure. Liv's soul is clean, undamaged, and in excellent condition. I'm not sure what has happened to her, what brought her back or caused such colossal physical changes, but she is still most definitely herself."

"Can you tell if there's something or someone else inside her?" Dean asked. "Some kind of possession we haven't seen before?"

The angel shook his head. "I would have found it, if there was another presence residing inside of her body. There is nothing."

Dean glanced down at Liv, who had been quiet throughout the entire exchange. She still didn't speak, but she looked up at him, hopefully.

"So, it's her," Dean said. "Just her."

"It's her," Cass agreed.

Dean was elated to hear that Liv had returned whole. Different, but whole. It didn't change the fact that something was happening to her, something they still had to research, but it was a relief.

"So, what do we do now?" Dean asked. He hoped that Cass would have some idea, some direction to point him in.

Cass bent down to hug Liv before moving toward the door. When Dean jumped up to follow him, he rested a hand firmly on Dean's shoulder.

"Just be grateful. I'll look into this; I have infinite research materiel. I'll come back as soon as I've found out what's happening. But, for now… be grateful to have her back.

Dean followed him to the door and watched him crawl into an enormous, vomit-brown Cadillac. The angel didn't seem entirely comfortable backing the long, boat sized vehicle out of the spot, but he made it with minimal effort.

Dean turned back to Liv, who still sat on the bed, her hands pressed against her chest where Cass had forced his way inside. She gazed back at him, and her expression softened when he smiled at her.

* * *

The bar was oddly crowded for a Tuesday night. Liv stood on the dance floor, letting her body move with the music. A man had asked her to dance, and she'd accepted, earning an angry scowl from Dean. She decided not to feel guilty. He'd refused each of her requests to dance and she didn't intend to spend the evening sitting at the bar. Besides, it was just a dance and Dean was right there, watching.

After Cass had left, the air inside the motel room had turned stagnant and awkward. She could see some of the tension in Dean's shoulders drop but the unease was slow to dissipate. She'd appreciated his support during Cass's exploration of her soul, but the comfort of Dean's embrace had vanished with the angel's departure. After several minutes of stilted small talk, Liv suggested they go out for a drink and Dean had hastily agreed.

They had only been at the bar a few minutes when the first man had approached and asked Liv to dance. Dean had cleared his throat and shot a murderous glare in the man's direction, which had motivated the man to hurry away before Liv could even answer.

"Are you ever going to dance with me?" she'd demanded, after Dean had finished his third beer.

"You know I don't dance," he reminded her, sternly, and ordered another lager.

Liv sipped at her wine and, when she'd been propositioned again, she jumped up before Dean had a chance to say a word and disappeared into the crowd with the gentleman.

He wore a cowboy hat, a blue and white checkered shirt, and leather cowboy boots. Liv quickly realized he wasn't much of a dancer, after he'd stepped on her black, wedge sandals multiple times. Her toes were sore but she quickly learned to be light on her feet and move them often. As they danced, she watched a series of young women approach Dean. A few moved away, with sullen expressions, after just a few seconds. Two or three stayed to chat, mistaking Dean's surly demeanor for playful flirting.

Liv wasn't jealous. She smiled to herself, as waves of familiarity rolled over her. She'd been to hundreds of bars and watched hundreds of women flirt with her man. The only difference was the absence of Sam; he had always garnered his fair share of attention. But tonight, Dean had no competition, and the women were prowling.

When the song ended, Liv pulled away from the cowboy and offered him a friendly smile. He tipped his hat and sauntered away, his own face lit up by a wide grin. Before Liv could make her way back to the bar, the first man stepped in front of her.

"How about now?" he asked. He was a huge man, taller than Sam and as wide as a linebacker. He smiled at her and raised his eyebrows. Liv glanced around him and saw the female bartender, a pretty blonde in an artfully torn tank top, learning over the bar toward Dean. They were both smiling, her quite a bit more excitedly. As Liv watched, the woman reached up and fingered the collar of Dean's dark blue, denim shirt.

"Sure!" Liv said, and reached out to take the man's hand.

Back on the dance floor, the man introduced himself as Wayne. After she told him her name, their conversation was stilted by the music.

Liv felt like a doll in his arms; he towered over her by far more than a foot. He was firmly built, heavy and dense with muscle and mass. The music from the jukebox was primarily 70's rock and they danced through several songs, some fast and some slow. Their pace never changed though, and his plate sized hand never left the small of her back. She didn't like the way his fingers worked their way beneath the hem of her maroon, lace crop top, or below the waistband of her tight, black jeans. His friendly smile had become a lecherous leer and she found herself pulling away from him, only to be tugged back into place against his rotund but solid belly. When the music stopped, and didn't immediately start again, Liv took advantage of the quiet.

"I should get back," she said with a polite smile. "He's probably wondering if I got lost."

"Don't look like he's wondering anything," Wayne said. He motioned toward the bar, where the bartender had abandoned her duties and was sitting on the stool next to Dean, her legs crossed toward him.

Mildly annoyed, but still not resentful, Liv shrugged her shoulders and tried to step away, but he wouldn't release her.

"One more dance," he said, grinning lewdly.

Liv shook her head but he easily pulled her back against him. His fingers wrapped tightly around her wrist; his other hand went to her waist but quickly slid lower until he was gripping her ass and squeezed. Liv pushed against his chest with her free hand and protested but the music had started again and she couldn't even hear her own voice over Aerosmith blasting from the speakers.

The man's hand tightened on her bottom, clutching it painfully. He had shrewdly positioned them in the corner of the dance floor them so that his back was to the room and she was almost completely hidden behind his massive frame. Liv struggled to pull her hand out of his grip, fighting to wrench her body free. He smirked down at her and his fingers twisted her wrist backward. Liv abruptly raised her knee, remembering the self-defense lessons Dean had given her. Unfortunately, her legs were far too short for her knee to reach anywhere near his groin and it hit only empty air. Still, she was astonished to see the man's smile vanish and his mouth formed a perfect O of shock.

As she wondered how she'd actually hurt him, without even touching him, the man was abruptly jerked backwards. Liv was tugged forward and she nearly fell over before he released her wrist. He staggered sideways and she saw Dean, looking more terrifyingly furious than she'd ever seen him. He grabbed the man by his filthy collar and threw a solid punch that connected directly with the man's nose. Blood spurted onto the ground, splashing the ground at their feet. Another blow hit the man's gut and he doubled over; a second later, he fell backward as Dean's knee slammed into his jaw.

A wide circled had formed around the trio as the other dancing couples backed away. Liv scurried around the man, toward Dean. He took her hand and glared down at the man, who was writhing on the ground. Blood continued to trickle from his nose.

"You okay?" Dean asked her. She nodded and stepped closer to him. Another bartender, not the woman who had been flirty with Dean but a man who exuded an authoritative air, approached. Liv prepared herself for another argument and then, most likely, to be kicked out of the bar.

"Was he bothering you?" the bartender asked, pointing at the man on the ground.

Liv nodded, again.

"Dammit…" the bartender groaned. "Alright, Wayne, you're out." He bent down to help Wayne to his feet. "You two can stay. Sorry about Wayne," he said as he pushed Wayne toward the back exit. "Just keep an eye on her, alright?"

Dean nodded and slid an arm around Liv's waist.

"Sorry," she mumbled. He guided them back to the bar, where their drinks and jackets waited. He had ordered her another glass of wine, and himself a shot of whiskey.

"For what?" he growled. "He was the dick."

"I shouldn't have danced with him," she said.

He only shrugged and down his shot, grimacing. "I'll be right back," he said. "Don't move."

Liv watched him stalk toward the restroom. She sipped her wine, without moving from her seat. The female bartender, the pretty blonde, stopped in front of her with Dean's second shot. She didn't say a word but the glower she shot at Liv spoke for itself. Liv barely noticed when an achingly familiar song began to play, filling the room with nostalgia.

"So, you wanna dance or what?" he whispered into her ear, his deep, growly voice filled with phony irritation. Liv couldn't contain her smile and, as Journey's 'Faithfully' continued to play, he led her onto the dance floor.

There was no awkward adjusting or positioning; her arms immediately went around his neck and his slipped around her waist. Even in the platform sandals, she couldn't quite reach all the way so he bent forward and she rose up on her toes. His palms pressed against the bare skin of her back and held her tightly against him and, after a moment, she rested her cheek on his chest. It was so natural for her; she didn't even realize it was happening at first. Her lips brushed against his neck and he gasped softly, his fingertips digging into her flesh.

Liv tilted her head to look up at him and, suddenly, he was kissing her. His lips ground against hers with a fervency she hadn't experienced since before she lost him at SucroCorp. She slid her fingers through his short hair, gripping the locks and holding him against her. When he finally pulled away, her teeth caught his lower lip, reluctant to break the kiss.

"Let's go," he growled, and pulled her away from the dance floor. As he stalked past the bar, he tossed a hundred dollar bill onto the polished formica and grabbed both of their jackets.

Liv hurried to keep up with him, their hands clasped together.

The bar was only across the street from the motel, so there was no need to drive. He tugged her over the asphalt, stopping only to let a single car pass and glowering impatiently. At the door, he deftly slid the key into the lock and pushed it open in one smooth motion. Liv felt herself be pulled into the room and, a second later, her back was against the wall and he was pressed against her. He lifted her up, wrapping her legs around his waist, and kissed her again.

As if in a dream, Liv watched her fingers struggle with the buttons of his shirt. They wouldn't open fast enough and, eventually, he simply pulled it up over his head, along with the black t-shirt he wore underneath. Liv ran her hands over his smooth, hard chest, marveling at how perfect he actually was, until he pulled her shirt up, forcing her arms up into the air.

With her legs still locked around him, he carried her to the bed and they both collapsed on top of it. His kisses became more and more aggressive, traveling down her throat and between her breasts. He stopped, briefly, at her navel to unbutton her jeans and peel them off of her. She reached down for him, pulling him back up so that their lips met, again. As she slid her hands down his chest and stomach, to struggle open and push down his jeans, she had a moment to wonder what had changed; what had shifted so drastically that it had entirely shifted the nature of their relationship, but it was only a moment and then she could think of nothing but him.

* * *

Dean woke to the sound of a voice, loudly whispering his name. He opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was a cascade of shiny, black hair. Dim light streamed in through the break in the curtains; it was early, before dawn, and the room was mostly dark. Liv was still asleep, in his arms, with her back to him. The sheet covered them to their waists and, when Dean realized it was Cass trying so desperately to catch his attention, he tugged it up to cover her torso as well.

"What the hell, Cass?" Dean whispered, just as loudly. Liv murmured softly in her sleep but didn't wake.

Realizing that he was completely nude beneath the sheet, Dean grabbed his jeans from the floor and tugged them on before switching on the bedside lamp.

"Dean, I need to speak to you. It's urgent," Cass said. He was standing by the door of the motel room and, even bathed in shadows, Dean could see the concern on his face.

"What's wrong? Is it Sam?" Dean stood quickly, and stalked toward Cass.

"It's not Sam; it's Liv."

The angel pulled open the door and stepped outside; Dean grabbed his t-shirt and followed, pulling it on as he closed the door behind them. He wished he'd had time to put on his boots; the concrete was freezing, but he hadn't seen Cass so distraught about something in months.

"Alright, what? What is it? You said she was okay."

Cass nodded, but his anxious expression didn't falter. "She is okay, Dean. But, I think I know what's going on and… I'm afraid."

Dean's eyebrows furrowed together. "Afraid? What are you afraid of?"

Cass looked up at him, his eyes graven apprehension.

"Dean, have you ever heard of the Keres?"

Dean shook his head, confused. "What's that? Is that the name of a person?"

"No, no. It's a race of beings. Sometimes called the Tenebrae," Cass said. He leaned back against the Impala, which was parked just outside the door.

Dean rubbed his arms, trying to fend off the chill of the early morning darkness.

"I've never heard of either of those," he said. "What are they?"

Cass frowned.

"I don't know much. They mythology, Greek by the way, doesn't offer much information. I know that they're rare, they're always women… They're powerful, beyond powerful, actually. They were once human."

"Hold on a second," Dean interrupted him. "Are you saying you think Liv is one of these… these Karens or Carols or whatever."

"Keres," Cass answered, nodding. "And yes, I'm almost certain she is."

Dean held up his hands. "Okay, and? Why are you so freaked out?"

Cass ran a hand through his hair. "Because this is bad, Dean. This is very bad."

"Why?" Dean scowled. He was growing impatient with the angel's hesitation.

"Because the Keres are also called the Goddesses of Death," Cas said. Dean felt a chill begin to travel upwards form his feet, all the way through his body.

"You're saying she's a Goddess? That's ridiculous, Cass!" he snarled.

Cass shook his head. "No, the translation is shoddy, at best. She isn't a Goddess… but she's still quite dangerous, and probably has been for as long as you've known her. If I'm correct, she would be able to control death. She would… what is it?"

Dean had frozen in place, remembering the zombies and their inexplicable reaction to Liv's commands. He hadn't thought to mention it to Cass the night before, but it was exactly as the angel described.

"I've seen her do it," he said, quickly. "I've watched her control the dead."

"Explain," Cass said, shortly. Dean went through the night after Liv had arrived, down to every detail. As he spoke, Cass's face fell.

"Then it's true," he said, darkly.

"Now, wait. What's so bad about it? I mean, if she can control the dead, it's no big deal. I mean… it's a big deal but she can control it, for Christ's sake!"

Cass shook his head. "It's not just that, Dean. The dead are drawn to her. Imagine all the creatures you've battled, the zombies and ghouls, even demons. They'll all be attracted to her."

Dean's eyes widened. "That son of a bitch knew!" he shouted.

"Who?"

"Crowley! He knew and that's why he wanted her!" Dean's hands clenched into tight fists.

"She might have been better off with him," Cass said. "If he knew, he could have trained her, or at least told her what to expect. She'll have powers, Dean, abilities we can't understand."

"We'll research it," Dean insisted. "We'll find out more about these Keres things. We'll help her learn to control it."

Cass looked up at him with a forlorn smile. "There's more."

Dean closed his eyes and struggled to breathe deeply. "Okay, what else?"

"The dead are attracted to her now," Cass began. "You've seen it. But, not just the dead. Anyone who has been touched by death. When she died, and came back, this was intensified. That's why you saw the zombies. But, it didn't start then. It started when she was born."

Dean glowered at the angel. "I don't follow what you're getting at here, Cass. Just fucking spit it out. What are you telling me?"

Cass sighed. "I'm telling you that your attraction to Liv… it most likely isn't natural. You don't love her for her. You love her because you've been touched by death. I don't think it could even be considered love. It's just… magnetism. Think about it Dean… how many times have you actually died?"

Dean couldn't even begin to consider the answer. He knew of three, at least. Did his deaths at the hands of the trickster count? If so, the number would be in the hundreds.

"She has control over you, Dean. Absolute control. If anyone has been touched by death, it's you. You've been touched by death a thousand times or more, and each instance has made you more susceptible to her appeal. She doesn't do it intentionally but Dean, I don't think you'd be able to say no to her, even if you wanted to," Cass continued. "I don't think it's safe for you to be around her. You have to send her away."

Dean closed his eyes, unwilling to process what Cass was telling him and even more unwilling to admit that the angel was probably right.

* * *

"Liv, I want you to do something. It's going to sound… unorthodox. Just trust me."

Liv nodded, still groggy with sleep. They'd given her enough time to slip into one of Dean's t-shirts and a pair of cotton shorts, but nothing else. She wanted to brush her teeth and make coffee but Dean wouldn't let her.

Cass glanced back and forth between Liv and Dean, apprehensively. "Alright, tell Dean to do something."

Liv frowned. "To do what? Why?"

Cass shook his head. "Just trust me."

"This is stupid, Cass. Why are we doing this?" Liv scowled. "You know Dean doesn't do anything he doesn't want to do."

"Just do it," Dean growled.

Liv glared at him. She was tried, cranky, and hungry, and she had no patience for their games. "Alright, fine, go fuck yourself."

Dean turned to Cass, his eyebrows raised.

Cass eyed him suspiciously. "No, that doesn't work. He can't physically do that. Something else."

Liv narrowed her eyes. "Okay, then. Punch Cass in the face."

"Now, wait -" Cass began, but was immediately silenced when Dean popped him in the nose. It was a short punch, without the full force of his formidable strength, but Cass still staggered backward a step.

"What the hell? Why did you do that?!" Liv shouted. She jumped up and rushed to Cass's side, inspecting his nose for damage.

"I… I don't know," Dean said, dumbfounded. "Because you told me to, I guess."

"So, what? If I told you to jump off a cliff, would you do that too?" Liv slapped Dean on the shoulder.

Cass gingerly squeezed the bridge of his nose and sniffed. "I'm afraid he would, Liv. That was the intention of this experiment."

"Maybe he just wanted to punch you," Liv said, stubbornly. "I've certainly wanted to punch you since you woke me up at 4 freakin' AM."

Cass turned to Dean, who shook his head. "I don't think that's the case."

Liv began to pace through the room, her arms crossed over her chest. "Alright, say you're right. What does that mean? What does it have to do with what's been happening to me?"

"I'll tell you everything I know," Cass said. "But first, I think it would be a good idea for Dean to leave."

Liv looked up, alarmed. "No. Why?"

"For his own safety," Cass answered, cryptically.

Liv scowled and turned to Dean, expecting him to disagree. She was sorely mistaken though, and felt a wave of panic roil through her body when he wouldn't even meet her gaze.


End file.
